


Voice of the Old Gods

by JayRain



Series: New Magic and Old Gods [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Kirkwall, Long-Distance Relationship, Lyrium, M/M, Magisterium, Minrathous, Mystery, Old Gods (Dragon Age), Organized Crime, Original Plot, Ostwick, Storm Coast (Dragon Age), Tevinter Imperium, The Descent DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 53
Words: 139,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayRain/pseuds/JayRain
Summary: Theo Trevelyan swore he was through saving the world, and intended to retire to Ostwick to mope, while his husband, Dorian Pavus, cultivated a new life as a Magister in the Tevinter capital of Minrathous.  When a Titan stirs in the deep below the Storm Coast, and the Old Gods begin whispering in the darkness of Minrathous's streets, Theo and Dorian must overcome the hurt from the past, and work together to uncover the threat lurking in Tevinter's shadows.But Theo and Dorian are involved, which means nothing can be simple...Cover art by MaXKennedy.  http://maxkennedy.deviantart.com





	1. The New Normal

_Part I: No Place Like Home_

 

# Chapter 1: The New Normal

 

The purple-gray clouds pressed down, threatening a storm; though so far it only rained lightly as Maranda navigated the muddy path to the stables.  Overhead gulls cried to one another.  If they were coming inland, the worst of the storm was surely on the way.  The occasional gust of wind whipped her long brown hair into her face and she pushed it back impatiently.  Her boots squelched in the mud; there was no avoiding it.  She didn’t mind it though.  Her lightning magic flitted inside of her, eager to greet the oncoming storm.  Maybe later she would go out to watch it.  But first, she had a task.  The letters in her hand were getting slightly soggy.

The sweet smell of hay and horse welcomed her when she entered the much warmer and drier stable.  As a little girl in the Ostwick Circle, Maranda often enjoyed slipping off to the stables whenever she could, even though she wasn’t supposed to.  The pungent scent of those stables reminded her of the home she could never return to.  And now, as she wandered down the aisle, trailing her hand along the rough wooden stall doors and pausing to scratch some of the horses behind their ears, she was home.

It hadn’t been the easy transition she’d dreamed of as a young girl, especially when the mage-templar war broke out.  The Ostwick Circle remained as neutral as possible, for as long as it possibly could, but the fighting ended up on their doorstep, as it had with many other Circles across Thedas.  She escaped to the only place she hoped she could be safe: the Trevelyan manor, where her parents had welcomed her with open arms.  She woke some nights wary of templars and fearing abominations, and occasionally added a sprinkle of magebane mix to her nightly tea to keep the dreams at bay for part of the night.

Home wasn’t always where you’d grown up, something Maranda had learned when her Circle fell, and when she’d come back to the manor.  So she knew, to a certain extent, how her baby brother was feeling, even if he wouldn’t listen to her when she told him so.

Maranda found Theodane toward the back of the stable grooming his deep chestnut gelding: a slow task for him.  She knew he’d also insist on cleaning and storing the tack right afterward.  But the whole family, and by now most of the staff, knew better than to offer help.  It was his defense mechanism: he could hide behind having work to get done, and avoid everyone that way.

Theo had just finished currying his horse and set to work on the hooves.  His Fereldan Forder stood patient and still, resting its fetlock on Theo’s knee so he could dig out the muck caught there.  “I know you’re there,” he said with a slight grunt as he leaned into the horse’s leg for better leverage.  “You can toss everything.  I’m not interested.  And just have dinner sent down.  I’ll be a while tonight.”

“No, I know, and again, no.” Maranda dug in her pocket and produced a sugar cube.  Arion, Theo’s horse, whickered softly and took the sugar from her.  Theo just sighed and worked at the clods of mud and small stones.  Maranda leaned against a stall door and began looking through the letters.  “This one’s from Starkhaven.  Shall I see what your friend the Prince has to say?”

Theo shrugged.  “He’s not my friend, and if it’s some dreck about being grateful to the Maker for my sufferings, I don’t want to hear it.”

He had a point.  Maranda shifted the letter aside.  “This one’s from Kirkwall.”  She broke the seal and opened it when Theo didn’t object.  “The Viscount would like you to remember you have a Hightown home at your disposal should you choose to take a holiday there.  And he can still beat you at Wicked Grace.”

Theo cracked a rare ghost of a smile.  “Kind of hard to hide your hand when… Well. You know.”

“At least you have a sense of humor now.  A bit macabre, but it’s a start.  Shall I save this one?”  Theo nodded and scooted over to Arion’s back hooves.  “Junk… some noble from Orlais or other…”

“How did they track me down?” he muttered.  Arion flicked his tail in Theo’s face.  “Enough from you, Horse.”

“Either their networks are as extensive as yours used to be, or they figured you’d come back here eventually.  Oh, this one’s from Val Royeaux.  Maker’s breath, Theo, only you would have the Divine sending you personal letters,” she said, shaking her head.  When Theo didn’t respond she opened it.  “She says this is the third time she’s written, she knows you’re still alive and would like to know why you’re not replying.”

“I’m busy.”

Maranda appraised him.  In her boots, breeches, and loose, flowy blouse, she hardly looked like the Circle mage she’d been most of her life, but at least, aside from the muddy boots her clothes were clean.  “Busy doing a lot of nothing and getting filthy?” she teased, but it was true: after an afternoon of taking Arion through his paces, including a few jumps, Theo had fallen into the mud countless times.  

She rubbed Arion’s velvety nose while Theo worked on the last hoof.  “You can do your tack after dinner, you know.”  He sighed and picked up the soft brush, and brushed Arion’s coat to a deep sheen.  “Mum will have them keep dinner warm until after you’ve cleaned up.”

“It’s no bother, she can just--”

“Theo. I think our parents would like to spend time with their son,” she said gently.  “They’ve hardly seen you in the last few weeks.  I wouldn’t mind getting to know my kid brother a bit better, too.”

She undid Arion’s cross ties and looped her hand under the halter.  Theo leaned his forehead against his horse’s neck.  “You’re going to stand there until I come in, aren’t you,” he said after a long moment.  He pushed his hair out of his face, leaving behind a smudge of dirt.  His hair was too short to pull back, but too long to keep out of his face; his facial scruff was a borderline beard at this point.  

Maranda figured he preferred this look, as it made him almost unrecognizable from the Inquisitor he had been.  “Just so you know,” she said as they approached the back entry of the manor,  “that necklace you keep on your bedside table was glowing.”

Theo paused and looked up at the darkening clouds, then back toward the stable.  “I really should finish up with Arion.”

“Andraste’s _arse_ , Theo, please just come inside.” Maranda grabbed his wrist.  A large, cold raindrop plopped onto her head.  “I’m sorry I said anything.  And take your boots off first, or Nola will never let us hear the end of it.”

Theo gazed up at the rain and then down at himself, all covered in dirt.  “Fine.  Don’t say I never did anything for you though.”  He tried to smile, though his eyes were distant.

“Don’t do this for me,” Maranda told him.  “Or for our parents.  Do it for yourself.  Theo.”  He paused and looked back at her.  “It’s an awful road to walk.  Don’t walk it alone.”  He just nodded and shrugged one shoulder before heading down the hall.

Theo had only returned home a just under a month ago.  He refused to talk about the Inquisition or its fate.  He refused to respond to letters from his friends, if he even read them in the first place.  He refused to explain why his husband, Dorian, who’d been planning to come back to Ostwick with him, had gone to Tevinter instead.  Theo kept to himself, secretive and sullen.

Maranda knew what a difficult transition it must be, and she wished he’d at least let her talk to him beyond small talk in the stables, or in the halls between meals.  Frankly, he’d amazed her when he agreed to come in just now.  She paused in her room to freshen up before dinner.  Her fingers tingled slightly, so she opened the window and smelled the air.  She’d always been able to tell when a storm was coming.  It was how they’d found out she was a mage to begin with.

The summer she turned nine… the mournful cries of gulls… purple clouds billowing in from the east… the tingle in her hands.  The sheets of rain falling as she stood in the field, and the way the first bolt of lightning reached out to her, how she reached back and laughed when her bolt met that one.  And then the terror on her parent’s faces, quickly replaced by sadness as they wrapped her in a cloak and walked home.

Her Uncle Cadan arrived later the next day.

She wove her long hair into a braid to keep it out of her face and headed to the sitting room.  “Need me to take care of that?” she asked her father, who sipped at a glass of whiskey.  His momentary hesitation would probably never go away; but he nodded and held out the glass, and Maranda touched two fingers to it.  The glass frosted over and the whiskey instantly chilled.  She’d been afraid to use her magic when she first came home; but over time her parents were less fearful, less adamant about clinging to tradition, and now she did small spells and cantrips openly.

“Thank you.  Can I pour you some?” He nodded toward the decanter.  Maranda shook her head and took a seat.  “Did you talk some sense into your brother?”

“He did come in, yes.  Not sure if that’s the sense you wanted me to achieve, but I guess it’s a start.  He’s… stubborn,” she said at last, even though that didn’t quite feel like the right word.

“He had to be, to do the things he did.”  Her father finished off his drink.  He forced a smile.  “Dinner?”

* * *

Theo had a long list of things he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about.  

He didn’t know where to begin for one, and if anyone would or could understand just how much he had lost as the Inquisitor.  It had given him the purpose he’d never had, and the identity he’d craved.  Now, as he worked to get cleaned up after a day of falling off his horse in the mud, he was no one.  

He gritted his teeth and began the arduous task of combing through his wild hair, and then trimming up his beard.  The scar down the side of his face had faded some, a reminder of chasing ghosts and fighting monsters and saving the world.  Now he could hardly even dress himself.  He shrugged into clean clothing; a tailor had worked to modify his wardrobe to make it easier to dress with only one arm, including altering the left arm of all of his shirts so it wouldn’t dangle; the visual tended to discomfit some people.  

But he still had so much to get used to.

Pain where there shouldn’t _be_ pain, for one.  Sometimes his left hand hurt so badly it woke him up; he expected the throbbing green glow of his mark, only it wasn’t there--and neither was the hand.  Occasionally his wrist itched, but there was nowhere to scratch.  He’d reach for something and his hand would pass through the air, because his hand just wasn’t there.  Nevermind how damned long it took to do everything one-handed.  

At last Theo was more presentable than he’d been in a few days, and he hated to admit it, but it felt good.  Covered in mud, hiding out in the stables or down by the ocean made it easy to sink into that feeling of being nobody.  Cleaned up, properly dressed, and ready to sit down with his family for a meal?  He had to be Theo Trevelyan.  Another wave of discomfort surged through him: just who _was_ that?

The Theo Trevelyan he’d known was an archer who rivaled even Prince Sebastian Vael.  That Theo Trevelyan commanded armies and the respect and gratitude of empresses.  That Theo Trevelyan’s marked left hand sparked curiosity and fear.  He was the Theo Trevelyan who was completely unabashed at the fact that a handsome Tevinter mage shared his adventures as well as his bed.

No.  He wasn’t that Theo anymore.  He often had to remind himself that he just needed to learn how to live again, and an identity would eventually follow.  He was doing a pretty shitty job at it, but he’d been a pretty shitty Inquisitor when that started too, to be completely honest.  He took a deep breath and slipped through the secret passages and halls he’d come to know as a child.   He had a hundred memories connected to the manor home.  It had hardly changed, while he was a completely different person.

He smelled dinner as he neared the kitchens and his stomach rumbled.  He slipped out into the hallway, swallowed his nerves, and stepped out into the family dining room.  Conversation stopped when he appeared, but the silence didn’t linger.  His family tried to be as normal as possible with him, which he found strange: what _was_ normal for the Trevelyans these days?

“Welcome, son.” Bann Alick Trevelyan rose from his seat at the head of the table. He smiled warmly and gestured for Theo to sit.  “We were just talking about how nice it is to see you riding again.”

Theo sat down.  “True, I did do more riding than falling this time.  Arion’s a good horse.  Nice and patient.”  The chowder course came out and talk turned to horses; the family crest bore a horse, and the Trevelyans were well versed in horsemanship, lore, and breeding.  The Bann of Wycome offered a mare to breed with Alick’s stallion; Starkhaven proposed interbreeding with some horses of Antivan stock; meanwhile Ostwick’s horsemasters were choosing the best destriers to ride at the Grand Tourney in Tantervale next spring.

Theo ate his chowder while his father did most of the talking.  Skyhold had had many things, including a team of skilled chefs, but nothing compared to the freshness of fish caught off the coast of Ostwick.  His afternoon in the drizzle and mud left him famished.  He glanced up to see his mother watching him, but she quickly looked away when she saw him.  It had to be ironic: three of her children were off with their own families, and Gavriel had died a little over three years ago.  Now the two children she’d probably thought lost to the Chantry forever were both home.  Damaged, but home.

The servants swept away the chowder crocks; the main dish, individual fish pies with flaky, buttery crust, came out.  “So, Theodane.”  Alick dug into his steaming pot pie.  “Have you heard from anyone of late?”  

It came out casual and innocent, but Theo’s fork hovered over his own fish pie.  He stared down at the browned crust.  “Not really.” Under the table, Maranda kicked him.  When he glanced up, she mouthed _letters?_  “I think they’re all busy.” He averted his eyes from his sister.  He took a huge, steaming forkful of his dinner and blew on it before shoving it in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to talk more.

“The Viscount of Kirkwall offered him a place to stay if he felt the need for a holiday,” Maranda said, and Theo glared at her.  “Maybe before the end of the summer?  Kirkwall isn't that far away.  I could go too,” she added, glancing up at her parents.  “It seems safer now under Divine Victoria.”

Their parents agreed that would be a grand idea; Theo just poked at his dinner.  He didn’t know how he felt about visiting Kirkwall.  The last time he’d been there had been part of a pilgrimage on the way to the Conclave.  Now Varric lived there and would probably want him to read his memoir: _All This Shit Is Weird._  Yes, the shit had been weird.  No, he didn’t want to talk about it, let alone read an embellished version of it.

“Anything from Dorian?” His father asked, and Theo dropped his fork.  “I had been looking forward to seeing my son-in-law, but hearing from him will suffice.”

“No.  He’s busy.”  Theo forced himself to keep eating, pretending things were alright.  He’d been purposely vague on the details of why his husband was in Tevinter while he’d come back to Ostwick: the opposite end of the world from him.  “What’s going on with Matty and his family?  Or Gwyn, or Thisbe?” He kept his voice even.   _They’re your family.  They care about you.  They care about each other, and Dorian’s their family now, too.  That’s why they’re asking._

“Well, Matthias’s youngest daughter was accepted at the University of Markham, and his oldest will be traveling to Hircinia to work with their Bann regarding estate management for the spring season.  It’s possible Lady Thistlewaite’s son may end up being a suitable match,” his mother said before Alick could say anything else.

Talk turned to Theo and Maranda’s nieces and nephews.  The Trevelyans’ standing in the Free Marches had increased exponentially with Theo’s run as Inquisitor.  He was glad that his family benefitted from his status.  There had been a time when he had been angry and resentful that his father thought to gain from Theo’s position.   Only after he’d survived Corypheus, did he realize the need to reconcile with his family.  They’d made such a spirited effort, too: welcoming Dorian as their own, accepting Theo’s adventuring spirit, allowing Theo to come home and huddle away in the guest wing of their manor after he’d spent over three years as the most powerful man in the world.

He finished his fish pot pie and rested his napkin on the table.  “I’m kind of tired after being thrown off a horse all day, so I think I might retire,” he announced.  He ignored his itchy non-wrist.

“Good night,” his father said with a smile.  “Thank you for joining us.  It was nice to have this time together.”

“Perhaps this can happen more often.”  Cordelia sounded hopeful, and she nodded as she said it.  “It’s nice to be family again.”  She looked away from him.  “Maranda, tell me again about work?”

Theo just nodded and headed back to his rooms.  He didn’t know much about Maranda still; he hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t been very forthcoming.  Other than sharing the surname Trevelyan, space in the manor, and the same green eyes, he and Maranda were completely different.  

His parents had let him set up in the remote guest wing, in a comfortable room with a canopy bed, well-stocked writing desk, fireplace, two leather chairs and a small table, and a private rest room.  A leaded glass window overlooked the orchards.  Heavy rains slashed against the window.

He slipped off his soft house shoes and climbed into the bed.  It was far smaller than his bed in Skyhold had been, but still felt large and lonely without Dorian to share it.  They’d managed to share camp cots, fur piles, and bed rolls.  Theo took the sending crystal necklace off the bedside table and rubbed his thumb across it.  Dorian hadn’t had the chance to teach him how to use it, though through no fault of his.  

It wasn’t just that Dorian had to leave for Tevinter.  It was that Dorian had _planned_ on leaving before he’d even come to the Exalted Council.   _That’s_ what hurt, at least then.  The pain he felt now came from knowing that Dorian had needed him in that moment to support and care for him.  Dorian’s father had been assassinated; his family legacy was on the line; he had a chance to truly make a difference in his homeland.  And Theo had been petulant and stubborn and let him leave.

As he did every night, he held the crystal tight in his hand.   _I’m sorry, Dorian,_ he thought. _I’m sorry._  The lazy pearlescent swirl below the surface never changed.  He’d written out pages of apologies to read, if by chance Dorian ever answered. “I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

No answer.

He shoved the crystal under his pillow.  He worked his shirt off and stared at the scarred stump.  The Anchor was nothing more than a magical parasite, feeding on him until there was nothing left.  He’d have died if Bull hadn’t taken off his forearm.  But lying here, staring at what remained, it felt like that emptiness was killing him too.

Theo looked over at the fireplace where his bow had been mounted on a plaque above the hearth, like a trophy or accessory.  He couldn’t stand looking at it.  That’s all he was anymore to anyone, it seemed.  He rolled out of bed.  He lifted his bow off the plaque, the comfortable weight in his hand nearly bringing him to tears.  He knelt down by the hearth and held the bow toward the low flames.  The glow shone in the polished wood and though he told himself he wanted it to burn, he couldn’t cast it into the fire.

Theo dropped it and threw himself back into bed.  He needed to do _something,_ anything but languish here like some forgotten relic.  He slid his hand under the pillow and clutched the crystal.  He’d come home to try living again.  He could still do that, but he had to figure out who he was now, and what he wanted to be.  He blew out the candle and rolled over in bed.  

Right now, he was tired.  Right now, he wanted to be asleep.


	2. When In Tevinter

# Chapter 2: When In Tevinter

Dorian’s office windows faced southeast and overlooked the winding streets and crumbling buildings of Minrathous.  He’d been home for almost two months.  He thrived in the sunlight and warmth of northern Tevinter, and while he hated to admit it, he was getting better with the politics of the Imperial Senate.  But the breeze from the Nocen Sea smelled of salt and melancholy and stirred up regrets he wished he didn’t feel.  Every time he looked at the sending crystal, silent these last weeks, the raw pain grated within him.

Someone rapped on the door and he smoothed his robes.  While everyone in the senate knew about his past with the Inquisition, he was in Tevinter permanently now.  It would not do to show sentimentality, which was equivalent to weakness.  No matter how deeply he felt it.

“Come in,” he called, settling in the leather chair behind his desk.  He swept the sending crystal pendant into a drawer and slammed it shut just as the door creaked open.  “Mae.  I’m glad it’s not someone else,” he teased.

Maevaris Tilani, another magister from Qarinus, slipped into the office and closed the door behind her.  She settled into the other chair in the room and crossed her legs demurely.  “Did I catch you brooding again?” she asked.  Dorian shook his head, but she fixed her blue eyes on him knowingly.

He sighed. There was never any point hiding anything from Mae.  “Only a little this time,” he said with a smile.  “Did you hear from Alcides?”

“He agrees with the Lucerni’s position.  Taxes are exorbitant, and he believes we can fund subsidies for soporati if we pull funds from the military on Seheron.”

“It will never happen,” Dorian said.  “The Qunari threat provides an excellent excuse for taxing the populace and funding the lavish lifestyle of half the Magisterium.  Though they’ll never admit to it.”

“Half the Magisterium stands to lose their lifestyle if the Qunari take Seheron,” Mae pointed out.  “The threat’s real this time, and we weren’t ready.  Had you not uncovered the Qunari plot during the Exalted Council—“

“We’re not going there, Mae,” Dorian said, his smile plastered across his face and a dangerous gleam in his eye.  “What’s done is done.  Did you just come to pester me about brooding?”

“And to let you know about Alcides.  But we need more than just his support.  Have you met with the Publicanium yet?”

He’d been back in Tevinter two months and had been a full Magister for six weeks of that,and it had been trial by fire from the start.  Of course Mae had him embroiled in her machinations right away.  He toyed with the quill pen on his desk.  “I think they’re afraid.”

Mae nodded.  She twirled a lock of yellow hair around one long finger.  “Of course they are.  The Magisterium barely gives them the time of day.”  Sessions that included the entire Senate were few and far between to begin with; when they did happen, the Magisters dominated the floor, passed their motions, and moved on.  “Publicans are too used to being powerless figureheads.  And now we’re asking them to consider changing that, so they’re probably suspicious.  I know I would be.”  She gazed out the window, her mask of bravado faltering momentarily.

The last time he’d been in Minrathous, himself a figurehead ambassador between the Imperium and the Inquisition, Dorian hadn’t fully grasped all that was going on below the surface.  When he’d been sworn in, Mae arrived at his apartment at sunup the next morning and inundated him with paperwork and briefings before he’d even thought about being fully awake.  Now he understood a bit how Theo felt: always at someone’s beck and call, always the one expected to have answers when he himself hardly knew what he was doing.  There had been no time to settle in, not with his father’s untimely assassination.  

Dorian shook his head.  “Maker’s testicles, Mae.  I’m not a politician.  I can’t think like this.”  He sat back in his chair, conjured a small ball of fire in the palm of his hand and stared into the orange flames.  “I never wanted to be a Magister. Especially not like this.”

Mae scooted her chair closer and rested her elbows on the desk.  “You joined the Inquisition.  You’ve been at the center of Thedas’s politics.  You’ve seen things most in the Magisterium have not, regardless of how worldly they’d like to believe they are.  You were _made_ for this, Dorian.”

There was no convincing her otherwise, so Dorian just smiled and nodded as she got up and left.  It was best to just let Mae believe she was right, than to try arguing.  Yes, he’d spent three and a half years embroiled in Thedosian politics, deep in the Inquisition.  For awhile he even thought he’d stay with the Inquisition forever.

Nothing lasted forever.  He knew it going in, and to believe that could change had been foolish.  The quiet sending crystal was heavier evidence of that every day.

Not even the Tevinter Imperium could last forever, not this way.  It had clung to its former glory like scraps of skin on bone for centuries.  It had to change if it wanted to avoid collapsing under the weight of its own decadence.  Dorian always knew he would be the one to change it.  He’d thought, during his time with the Inquisition, that his role was there; but the longer he stayed, the more he saw worldwide change happening under his watch, the more he longed to return home to Tevinter.

He’d also longed to balance his return with his marriage to Theo Trevelyan; just one year, he’d told him, hopeful that Theo could understand, could give him the time he needed.  He _knew_ the circumstances were less than ideal.  He’d told Theo that.  Theo hadn’t spoken to him since, and it ached deep within him, in a place he didn’t know existed, for reasons he couldn’t put words to.

He once swore he would never be a Magister, and now here he was.  Most days he barely kept his head above water, and was always both surprised and relieved when he retired to his Minrathous apartments at the end of each day.  He put back a couple of drinks and had a light dinner and wished he had Theo’s arm around him, holding him close; his voice in his ear, telling him it would be alright, that he was doing the right thing.  If he were to affect change, to make his promises to himself and the Inquisitor mean something, this was where he had to be.

The last thing he needed was to undermine what they were working for.  That was something Theo had never quite understood.  Theo created expectations; Dorian had spent most of his life falling short of them.  Granted, they were expectations he’d never wanted to meet in the first place.  But now, the expectations were ones he not only _wanted_ to meet, but to exceed.  He’d never minded being in Theo’s shadow during the Inquisition, but this was the Tevinter Imperium, and this was Dorian’s job.

The tall buildings of the capital city cast shadows as he walked the winding streets, though when he looked upward the sky was still rosy with the sunset.  The scent of roasting meats and spices wafted out of cafes with sidewalk seating, and Dorian nodded his acknowledgement as he passed a diner he recognized.

“Care to join me for dinner, Pavus?” asked Catullus as Dorian walked by.  He leaned over the iron railing separating his table and chair from the sidewalk.  Catullus hadn’t joined up with Dorian’s cause, but he sometimes seemed open to suggestions of reform, even if he did sit on the military finance committee.  “The red is well-aged here,” he added as he gestured to the empty seat across from him.  He was already holding up his wine glass, gesturing to the waiter and holding up two fingers with his other hand.

“I suppose I don’t have a choice now, do I,” Dorian said over his shoulder as he headed for the gate.  He just wanted to go home, maybe mope a bit.  His crystal weighed heavy in his pocket, its silence mocking him.  Perhaps dinner with Catullus would help.  He was vapid enough to be entertaining, and it couldn’t hurt to plant more seeds of reform.

Dorian sat and sipped his wine as Catullus went on about his own vineyards in Perivantium.  “It’s a good deal of work around the harvest time, but well worth it,” he said.  “Almost as good as this,” he added with a sip of his wine and a wink.

“I hear there are many looking for work,” Dorian said.  The waiter set down a salad of mixed greens with a light oil dressing.  “Selling themselves into slavery to settle debts, even.” It was one of the more troubling things he’d discovered since his return.

Catullus raised an eyebrow and chewed his salad.  He looked like a druffalo. “Are you suggesting that I _hire_ and _pay_ workers?” he asked.  He had a strange half smile on his jowly face, as if he couldn’t decide if Dorian seriously meant it.

“Well, there’s work to be had all over the Imperium, if one were to just look beyond the surface of matters.  This is what the Lucerni party encourages,” Dorian explained.  He pushed his greens around on his plate.  Dinner with other Magisters was never a purely social affair; it was always a business meeting with food, as he’d quickly learned as a young enchanter.  Politics tended to make him lose his appetite.  Though he had no issue drinking, and finished off his wine and called for another.

Catullus chuckled.  “You’re an idealist, Pavus.  Your father did all he could to fit in, and you’ve done all you can to stand out.”  He met Dorian’s gaze.  “Standing out can be dangerous.”

“So can complacency,” Dorian said with a pleasant smile.  He rose and left a few coins on the table.  “For the wine I won’t be drinking.  Enjoy yourself, Catullus.”  He knew Catullus smirked and chuckled behind his back; he knew that this would cost him in the senate, and he’d probably hear from Mae.

She’d been a Magister for years.  She knew the Magisterium, and the Senate as a whole; knew how to maneuver and manipulate.  This was her life, her world.  The world of Halward Pavus.

Dorian was sworn in as a Magister, but this wasn’t his world.  He didn’t know what his world was anymore.


	3. Dissonant Verses

# Chapter 3: Dissonant Verses

Mother Marya bowed again.  “Please let me know if there is anything not up to standards, your Worship.  And if I can do anything--”

“I will request you personally.” Theo stifled a sigh.  Mother Marya bowed one final time before leaving him to his quiet corner of the Chantry.  He understood that she needed to feel necessary; he understood that after three years of essentially ruling over all of Thedas, he would always be the Inquisitor to many people, and he also found it ironic that Mother Marya would be falling all over herself to see to his comforts.  After all, she had been the one to prod his father into sending him away.

He’d first come to the Chantry at his father’s heartfelt, well-intentioned suggestion shortly after arriving home.  Chantry types and townspeople alike mobbed around him: people amazed that the Herald of Andraste was a real person, curious that the Inquisitor was just a slim, pale man in his mid-twenties that hardly stood out in a crowd, especially without his glowing left hand. The way they stared at his left side and whispered and pointed...  

Now if he came, he took side roads and wound his way through alleys to throw anyone off his trail.  He remembered side entrances from his brief stint as a novitiate, and he used those to slip into the Chantry and find a quiet corner to be alone.  Someone always tipped off Mother Marya, but she was easy enough to deal with.  Sometimes he even enjoyed it.  Petty?  Absolutely.  He took what entertainment he could find.

He leaned back on the cushioned pew and closed his eyes, glad for the nonjudgmental quiet.  At home, everyone talked too much, too loudly, about inconsequential things and hoped he’d join in the conversation, or they said nothing at all for fear of setting him off.  They hoped he’d be their son and brother again.  Alone in the candlelit, reverent quiet, he could let his guard down a bit; everyone was too afraid of him otherwise.

“Bitter is sorrow, ate raw and often, poison that weakens but does not kill.”  The low, musical voice had just enough cadence to infuse some life into the Chant verse.  A Chanter stood at the entrance of Theo’s alcove, hands clasped before him and eyes fixed on Theo.  

“It’s that obvious?” Theo asked, quirking an eyebrow.  It was largely rhetorical, as Chanters took vows to speak only the Chant.  He sighed and closed his eyes again.

“Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing; an ocean of sorrow does nobody drown.”  The Chanter didn’t move from the doorway.  His dark eyes fixed on Theo, seeing him in a way that made him squirm.  “Within my Creation, none are alone,” the Chanter added with a nod.  Like he knew what he was saying.  Like he knew how to needle Theo _just so_.

Theo leveled his gaze at the Chanter.  “And then there are those of us who’d _prefer_ to be left alone.” While they spoke only in Chant verses, Theo was certain that a Chanter was allowed comprehend regular rhetoric.

This time it was the Chanter who sighed and-- _did he roll his eyes?_ “Arise, Aegis of the Faith.” He held out one of his hands.  “You are not forgotten.  Neither man nor Maker shall forget your bravery so long as I remember.”

“At that his wounds were healed,” Theo murmured.  He’d heard that verse before, spoken by a musical voice floating over the rush of his fitful, fevered dreams after he’d lost his arm.  “Who told you to say that to me?” His ghost hand tingled slightly, making the rush of unpleasant memories all the more painful.  “Because this? This isn’t healing,” he snapped, holding up his left arm.  “Go away.”

The Chanter finally shrugged.  “And so they joined in secret, telling none who were not of the temples of their designs.” He furtively glanced around before turning and fading into the shadows.

Theo hadn’t encountered many Chanters, but were they _allowed_ to speak the Dissonant Verses?  He waited, but no lightning struck, so Dissonant Verses in a Chantry wasn’t the heresy he’d once been taught.

Curiosity displaced his anger.  Theo got up and headed in the direction the Chanter had gone.  He moved quietly in the dim light and caught a glimpse of the other man as he rounded a corner.  Theo followed him but he’d vanished down the short hallway.  Theo then noticed an alcove with stairs leading down.  

Well.  Not like he had anything better to do.  

He carefully descended the narrow stairs.  “Pride refused all measure of blame… they cried out in rage to gods who did not answer.”  The voice drifted out from the dimness of the Chantry sublevels.

“Are you even allowed to abridge the Chant?” Theo called out, but he quelled his intrigue.  The Chantry had never been _this_ interesting, even when he was the Inquisitor.  “Is the Maker speaking to me through you?” He emerged in a dimly lit stone basement.  For one moment he wondered just how many spiders were hiding in corners, ready to scuttle out and bite him.  Then he remembered he’d faced far worse, and even if spiders _were_ creepy, he could handle them.  As long as they were small.

“Let us not fall into the jaws of the wolf together… go alone and see what army comes, singing, to the lands of Tevinter.”

A blade made of ice stabbed into his gut.  “Go rot in the Void,” Theo whispered, and hoped that lightning _would_ strike.  Tears pricked his eyes yet again at the rush of horrible memories that flooded him. He’d faced the Dread Wolf’s jaws.  Dorian had heeded Tevinter’s siren song.  Theo hung in the balance, no one and nothing.

“Where the Maker has turned his face away is a Void in all things.”  The voice was close, and Theo squinted into the dimness.  Why he didn’t just go back upstairs and wallow alone? “Though suffering from ailments both great and small, his heart was strong and he moved on.”

Theo caught a glimpse of the shadowy Chanter, and suddenly something whizzed by his face, nicking his cheek, and _thunked_ into the wooden door beam behind him.  Dammit.  He _would_ get assassinated in a Chantry.  “Who sent you?” he asked.  His cheek stung.  There was another whistling sound, but he dropped to the ground and rolled away.  His left shoulder protested, and he had difficulty getting to his feet quickly.  He looked around for something, anything, he could use to defend himself, but he had nothing.  No knife, no bow, no glowing green mark able to flay an enemy with pure Fade energy.

“The deep dark before dawn’s first light seems eternal, but…” The Chanter sighed.  “Can we dispense with the charade for the time being and speak plainly now that we are alone?” He lit a torch in a wall bracket before sitting down on a pile of crates.  Theo blinked and rubbed the blood off of his cheek.  The man squinted at him.   “It’s not a bad cut, that is good.”

Theo furrowed his brow and peered at the Chanter.  “You want to make small talk before you kill me?”

He shook his head, still smiling, which seemed odd for an assassin.  “I want to make small talk because I need to get to know you and figure out what I’m working with.”  His dark eyes sparkled in the torch light.  He had tanned skin and short dark hair.  He was draped in salmon, maroon and gold robes, but Theo had a feeling that under it all he had lean muscles, and that if he weren’t wearing robes he’d be fast.  Maybe even in robes he’d fight better than most anyone, let alone a one-armed Chantry relic.

“You could start by telling me who you are, and why we’re here.” This was the most excitement he’d had since coming back home.

“ _You_ can call me Cardenio.”  He brushed past Theo to retrieve his knives.  “You still have fairly good reflexes in the dark, so that’s a start.  I’d be willing to bet your aim is still good as well.”  Theo opened his mouth, but Cardenio shook his head.  “Not with a bow, I know.  That’s behind you, for now.”

“For now?  My arm isn’t magically growing back.”

“No, it’s not.  The Maker only works so many miracles.  What do you think about blades for the time being?”  He casually flipped his knives in his hands.  Theo stared, mesmerized as he expected Cardenio to accidentally catch the blade and sever a finger.  “Knives have a language.  If you speak their language, communicate with them, they will communicate with you.  When you and the blade work together, anything is possible.”

Cardenio’s relationship with his blades reminded Theo of how it once felt to shoot: how his bow felt like an extension of his arm and how his back and shoulder muscles could judge the tension of the bowstring.  He missed it.  And Cardenio’s “for now” comment _was_ intriguing, if unrealistic.  But he shook his head.  “I don’t know who sent you or how you found me.  But I don’t think I can do this.  I don’t even know if I want to do this.”  Part of his problem in the end was his increasing need to seek out a fight.

“Valiant hearts sing of victory waiting,” Cardenio said, slipping back into Chanter mode.  He pulled a hood over his short hair.  “To my children venture, carrying wisdom, if they but listen, I shall return.”  He paused to wink, then he bowed his head and made his way back up the stairs and left Theo alone, mind whirling with doubts and questions.


	4. What It Seems

# Chapter 4: What It Seems

Maranda had just finished tacking up her horse when she caught a glimpse of Theo sidling into the stable.  She looped the reins through the ring on the hitching post and followed him.  “I was about to ride to town,” she said, and Theo jumped, startled.  He tried to keep his expression neutral, but looked like he’d been caught doing something wrong.   “I don’t mind waiting for you,” she ventured.  “My boss doesn’t mind if I’m a little late.”

Theo cocked his head to the side.  “Boss?”

“I do the accounts for the apothecary a couple days a week, sometimes more depending on how business is.”

Now he looked intrigued.  “Really?”

She laughed.  “I tried wallowing for a bit, but it got to be too boring so I asked around about work.”  He looked so stunned that her smile grew.  “You helped, you know.”

“I did… wait, how?”  He waved for her to follow him and allowed her to help him tack up Arion.  He rarely allowed anyone to help him.

“Soon as I gave my name everyone realized I was your sister.  People just conveniently ignored my being a mage, especially since I didn’t use my magic.”  She worked the buckles of Arion’s bridle while Theo leaned into his horse and pulled at the girth on the saddle.  Most horses could be finicky and liked to hold their breath when being saddled; Arion had been well trained not to do this.  

Theo led Arion out into the yard where Maranda’s horse pranced nervously, so she mounted up and started taking the mare through her paces in the ring while Theo mounted. Circle life hadn’t afforded much opportunity to ride, and in the few years that she’d been home she’d spent what moments she could on horseback.  “Magic makes the horses nervous,” the Circle’s stablemaster told her one of her first days there.  Desperate for some reminder of home, she’d wandered to the stables.  The chestnut mare she’d been petting hadn’t seemed nervous, but at nine years old and only just discovering her magic what would she know?

Theo joined her.  Arion stood patiently while Theo adjusted his grip on the reins, and then they were off.  A few patches of blue peeked out of the overcast sky.  Only a light breeze rolling in from the ocean kept the humid air from feeling oppressive.  “When did you learn to do accounting?” Theo asked after a bit.

She glanced over at him.  “Is magic the only thing Dorian knows about?”

He stiffened in the saddle and Arion shook his head.  “Can we please not make this about Dorian?”

She’d met her brother-in-law twice, only briefly, but long enough to know she envied the easy relationship he had with his magic.  “I only ask because he’s a mage.  But he’s also quite intelligent about a number of other things, yes?”

“The Tevinter Circles are different.”

“But it’s still a place of magical learning,” she countered, nudging her horse, Dora, into a trot to keep up with the pace Theo was trying to set. “My point is they didn’t just teach me magic and religion.  A lot of magic requires careful and complex calculations.  Herbalism for instance.  Potions and tonics.  And being that I was there for twenty-two years, I got used to learning and using all that I was taught when I was young.”  

“By the time I was out of Ostwick all the Circles were falling, if they hadn’t already,” Theo told her.  “And the mages who were part of my closer network weren’t typical Circle mages,” he explained.  “Dor… him least of all.”  He stared at the backs of Arion’s ears the rest of the way into town.

They stabled their horses when they arrived at the entrance of the city; the stablehands recognized Maranda and took Dora’s reins with a smile, while Theo handed off Arion.  “You don’t have to wait for me to get off work,” Maranda said, pushing her sleeves up over her elbows.  Ostwick’s famed double walls trapped the heat and humidity, and blocked the sea breeze. “Though I don’t know what your plans are at the Chantry.  Do you mind if I stop by for a moment with you?” she asked suddenly.  She had prayers to say and homages to make.

Theo finally did turn to glance at her, blinking his wide green eyes a couple of times in surprise.  “Won’t your boss be upset that you’re late?”

“I’ll blame it on you,” she teased, but saw how uncomfortable he became.  His shoulders stooped, his eyes dropped to the ground, and his gait quickened.  “Theo, what-- oh.”  

They were drawing a crowd of onlookers of various social standing.  Everyone from merchants to laborers to the poor trickled out into the summer heat to see the Herald of Andraste.  She wondered if he endured this every time he came to the Chantry, especially since he’d been going every day for nearly a fortnight.

“The Maker is with us! His Light shall be our banner, and we shall bear it through the gates of that city and deliver it to our brothers and sisters awaiting their freedom within those walls!”  cried a Chanter as he appeared through the crowd.  “At last, the Light shall shine upon all of creation, if we are only strong enough to carry it!"  He held out a hand, directing Theo and Maranda toward the Chantry.  He spouted verses as they went, his musical voice infusing the Chant with a hypnotic quality she hadn’t thought possible.  Maybe that’s why Theo looked relieved to see him.

He led them inside.  Maranda pulled on a thread of cooling magic; cheating, perhaps, but what was the use of being a mage if you couldn’t do the little things to make yourself more comfortable?  They headed for the memorials, the Chanter hanging back with his head bowed respectfully.  When did Theo meet this guy?  And when did Theo become interested in the Chant?

It didn’t matter just now.  She knelt before two polished plaques and glanced around.  She called forth the tiniest wisp of flame to her fingertips and lit two candles.  It only seemed appropriate that they be lit by magic.  She came here often to pray for the repose of her uncles’ souls.  Other than the constant undercurrent of contrition, life in the Ostwick Circle hadn’t been terrible; she knew she owed much of that to her two templar uncles Cadan and Declan.  

“They died quickly.” Theo sat next to her on the stone floor.  “Everyone did.  There was no suffering at least.”  He stared at the two plaques before lighting two candles of his own.  “They believed in the Order and in the Chantry until the end.” Maranda nodded, not trusting herself to speak.  “They both kept trying to convince me that it was all for the best, and that the Maker could use me, and I just pouted and resented every moment of it.”

“They always tried to convince me that it was for the best as well,” Maranda said.  “I didn’t always believe them, but the way Uncle Declan would nod when he said it?  He was so convinced that I tried to believe because of it.”  If the Conclave explosion had never happened, would she still be in the Circle?  Would she still stay there for the sake of her uncles and her family’s duty to the Maker?  But even the templar order was falling apart by then.

“All things in this world are finite.  What one man gains, another has lost.”  The voice was mournful and musical, but Theo scrambled to his feet as if he’d been scolded.  Maranda looked over her shoulder at the Chanter standing in the doorway of the memorial.

“I’m going to… see if the Chant can bring me wisdom,” Theo said.  “I suppose I’ll see you at home.”  He took off after the Chanter.

He was definitely up to something.  

Maranda sighed and headed out into the muggy day.  Whatever he was up to wasn’t her business.  How he dealt with his trauma was his business.  She slipped into the apothecary and apologized for being late. Mistress Rosemary just waved it off.  “We’re not going out of business because you needed a few minutes at Chantry, dear,” she said, glancing up from her shipment invoice and smiling.

“I know, but I try not to take advantage of your understanding,” Maranda countered.  “Did you need me to catalog this shipment?  Also, I think I found a closer blood lotus supplier.”

Rosemary shook her head.  “No thank you to the first, and I’ll take that name when you have a moment.  I think if you just reconcile the books after these last few shipments I’ll be in tip top shape.”  She smiled and Maranda headed for the back room where the ledgers were kept.

She’d gone from merely tracking the accounts to occasionally assisting Rosemary with the business of supplies and even tweaking some recipes for maximum effectiveness.  It was nice to put that aspect of her Circle training to work.  Other than keeping herself warm in the winter and cool in the summer, though, Maranda refrained from using her magic.  

Mage rights continued to improve under Divine Victoria; and the College of Enchanters made consistent, spirited efforts to be a recourse for mage training.  In spite of those new improvements old superstitions still prevailed, especially in the Free Marches.  No Marcher would _ever_ forget that a _mage_ had destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry and plunged the world into chaos.  Sometimes she wondered what Tevinter would be like: not only would people not be afraid of her being a mage, but they’d be mystified by her _not_ using her magic.  

She hummed to herself as she calculated.  She enjoyed working with numbers; they worked or they didn’t, and if they didn’t, it was usually easy to trace why.  So unlike words, which could be misinterpreted; or people, who worked and didn’t work at the same time.  At last she closed the ledger and capped her inkwell.  She bid Rosemary a good evening before heading to the stables.

“I’m back for the gray mare,” she told the stablehand, craning her neck around to see down the line of stalls.  Dora caught sight of her and whickered, and so did the chestnut next to her.   _Arion_?  What was Theo still doing in town?  “Hold that for a few minutes--I forgot something,” she called, and started back toward the Chantry.

Curiosity nibbled at her.  She nodded to the lay sisters dusting the pews and polishing the candlesticks and looked around.  She always felt just a little uncomfortable in a Chantry, but still kept her head high.  She belonged here as much as anyone else.  She was no maleficar, no abomination waiting to happen.  She’d been apostate for four years and had turned… well, she’d turned into an accountant.  Terrifying, truly.

She saw no sign of Theo in any of the pews or even the more secluded alcoves.  She glanced down one short hallway and saw only closed doors.  Maybe he’d just gone to a tavern to drink away his troubles.  She knew of a fair few people who went that route when the Circle fell.  She headed back toward the sanctuary, but paused.  She’d nearly missed the door, so dark and nondescript it blended into the shadows.  She turned the knob and it opened.  She poked her head down into a dim, narrow stairwell.

Muffled sounds of fighting: grunts, swears, and a crash as someone fell into a pile of crates.  She recognized Theo’s voice as he swore.  She all but jumped down the rest of the stairs and saw a lithe, dark-haired man bearing down on Theo with a knife.  She pushed her hands out toward him, condensing her mana into an amorphous fist that slammed into the man, shoving him up against a wall.  “What do you think you’re doing?” she screamed.

“Maranda, don’t!” Theo said, struggling to his feet.  Sweat drizzled down his bare torso.  A light cut slashed across his right shoulder.  He had to drop his own knife to push his sweaty hair out of his face, breathing heavily.  

She didn’t release her spell just yet, holding the other man against the wall.  “One of your friends?” She eyed his knives, then Theo and his knife on the floor by his feet.  “He was trying to kill you, right?”  She got a closer look at the other man.  His dark hair, those dark eyes… “When did Chanters start masquerading as assassins?”

“He’s not an assassin.  Wait, he is.  But he’s not here to kill me.  His name is Cardenio.”  Theo bit his lip.  “He’s training me.”  Maranda released her spell and Cardenio sat up.  “What are you even doing here? I  told you I’d meet you at home!”

“You left your horse behind so I came to look for you.  I didn’t realize ‘seeking the Maker’s guidance’ meant fighting in the Chantry basement,” she snapped.  She shook her hands out, willing the buzzing tingle of mana to subside.  “Andraste’s arse Theo, if Mum and Father found out--”

“One, they’re not going to.” Theo met her eyes, and he spoke with authority.  It was so easy to forget that he’d been the Inquisitor, especially at times like this.  “Two, I’m an adult.  Three, if you’d seen a quarter of the shit I did you’d know why I have to figure out how to defend myself and fight again.”  He grabbed a water skin and tossed it to Cardenio, who caught it even though his eyes were still trained on Maranda, watching her with an analytical look she didn’t care for.  Theo took his own skin and drank deeply, then drizzled some over his face.  “It didn’t end with the Qunari,” he said at last.

Maranda nudged him with a faint chilling spell; he was still sweating and his cheeks were flushed.  She glared at Cardenio, but he just smiled and drank.  Where did Theo find these people?  But still, this was the first Theo had said to _anyone_ about what finally broke him, so she did her best to ignore Cardenio.

“I wanted it all to be over, but the longer I’m at home, the more I realize it isn’t.”  He fussed with his pull-on shirt, waving away Cardenio’s offer of assistance.

“So what is this all about then?” she asked.

“Kind of hard to shoot a bow with one arm.” Theo tugged the laces of his shirt.  “Knives though?  It’s tough, but I’m learning.  I like having something to do again.”

“Even if it does mean getting your one-armed ass kicked on a regular basis,” Cardenio piped up with a grin.  He got to his feet.  “In all seriousness you show improvement.”  He pulled his Chanter’s robes back on.  “Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker,” he recited with a grin.

“Fuck you too,” Theo said as Cardenio left them.  He looked away from Maranda and busied himself holstering his knife.  He left his shirt untucked and baggy over his breeches; the knife holster was barely noticeable if you didn’t look for it, and who would look for such a weapon on the Herald of Andraste anyway?  He adjusted his boots and she caught a glimpse of another small holster.  She sighed and zapped him with a weak bolt of lightning.  “What was that for?” he snapped.

“For swearing in the Chantry.  For being a complete pratt.  For letting me think someone was trying to kill you!”  She stormed toward the stairwell.

“It’s not something I intended for you to find out this way… or at all,” he confessed, following her.  He waited until they were on their horses and headed back home before speaking of it again.  He cleared his throat and she glared at him.  “So… how attached are you to your job?”

“What?”

“I was thinking I’d make it up to you by asking if you wanted to go to Kirkwall with me.”

Something inside of her jumped at the thought, even though she tried to tell herself she was still angry with her brother.  “There’s a catch,” she told him.  There had to be.  He’d been a politician for the last few years.  He’d learned how to bargain.  

He sighed, caught.  “Fine, Varric asked me to visit. It sure as shit isn’t a pilgrimage.” He snorted.  “I’d also like to try to avoid running into the Prince of Starkhaven if at all possible,” he added with a grimace.  “But I know you want to go, and, well…”

She finally laughed.  “Our parents won’t let you go alone, no matter how much of an adult you are.”

He visibly relaxed in the saddle.  “Exactly.  I know why they want to hold onto me, but I’m just not the son they remember.”  All Maranda had to do was look into his eyes to know the truth of that.  The last time she’d seen him before his return home had been his wedding day.  His eyes had sparkled, he’d smiled and laughed.  Now he was hollow and haunted, and it was more than just whatever had happened between him and Dorian.  “The thing is I just can’t _not_ fight anymore.  I tried so many times, and I’m just meant to keep going I guess.”  He sounded defeated and resigned.

“I’ll go,” she told him just as the view of the manor home became visible from horseback.  “I always did want to see the world.”


	5. Magister Business

# Chapter 5: Magister Business

Dorian lived in luxurious Senate apartments that even rivaled his parents’ estate in Qarinus.  The upper city in Minrathous was well-removed from the dusty, poverty-stricken streets that deteriorated the closer one got to the docks.  Up here he easily forgot about the state of the city and of the Imperium as a whole.  Here, alone, Dorian remembered that he hadn’t always needed marble floors and silken sheets; once he could sleep on any surface with any covering and be content and comfortable so long as Theodane Trevelyan was in his arms.

This apartment held none of the primitive charm of camp tents, or the staunch austerity of Skyhold.  Dorian could never imagine his father in any of those places; but here he clearly envisioned his father going about his business in luxurious ease.  Halward had written letters at this desk; had read correspondence in this overstuffed chair; had entertained and brokered deals and shared drinks in this sitting room.  The whole apartment reminded him of Halward, even in décor.

Dorian could easily have it redecorated.  However, beside the gold and emerald amulet he wore, this apartment was all Dorian had left of his father.  To wipe out this memory felt wrong.  Their relationship had always fallen far below the ideal.  The last time Dorian had seen him, Halward hinted that he may wish to reconcile; but Dorian kept him at arm's’ length and avoided him as much as he could.  Reconciliation required vulnerability.  Dorian had no desire to let his guard down around his father ever again.

If he’d known that would be the last time he’d ever see his father, standing on the sidewalk asking him to go to dinner...

Dorian poured himself an aged Antivan brandy.  His father never spared any expense when it came to drink, one thing about Halward that Dorian could appreciate.  He locked the doors and set several fire glyphs on the door and window frames. He cast his silencing wards and sipped at the smooth, warm amber drink.  He sat in his father’s overstuffed chair with the cushions covered in fine gold and green silk brocade.  It was quiet in here, up away from the city streets.  He could hire a musician to play for him, but he really wanted someone to _talk_ with.

He missed that most of all.  He took out the pale blue, hexagonal crystal that he always kept in the pocket of his robes closest to his heart.  He closed his eyes and sent a small thread of mana into it.  He clutched the crystal in his palm and listened.

He always hoped to hear something, anything.  Sometimes he heard thumps and bumps and muffled whispers.  His voice stuck in his throat. How could they even begin to bridge the chasm between them?  Every night, as often as he could, Dorian charged the crystal and just listened for any sign that there was someone on the other end.

The brandy glass slipped from his fingers and smashed on the floor.  He jumped up, casting a barrier around himself and calling a lightning bolt to his fingertips.  He spun around, disoriented, heart racing. He checked his his wards: intact, but he still checked his rooms.  At last he sighed and slipped the gem into the tiny leather pouch that he wore around his neck on a worn leather string while he slept. He took a couple more swigs of brandy and then, still fully clothed, he fell into bed and drifted into a restless sleep.

  

* * *

     

It was still some days before the next meeting of the Magisterium, and at least a fortnight until the whole Senate met; but there was never any rest for the weary.  Dorian dragged himself out into the humid Minrathous morning, squinting in the bright sun.  The second brandy was not a _good_ idea, but the third, swigged directly from the decanter, was a decidedly bad one.

Luckily, Maevaris knew how to take care of her people.  “You look like dracolisk dung,” she said, handing him a steaming cup of black coffee.  She pointed to a table with a fruit platter and some freshly baked scones.  “Eat.  We all need our strength today.”

“Another taxation vote?” Dorian asked.  His head hurt.  The coffee only helped so much.

“We can only stave it off for so long,” Mae said.  She filled her plate with a pile of firm red grapes and a small wedge of cheese and took a seat with the other core members of the Lucerni party.  “But if we’re going to block it, we need a strategy that doesn’t include avoiding it forever.”

“What _is_ the situation on Seheron anyway?” Lucrezia Aureos asked. “I feel like we don’t ever hear anything definitive.  Like the military finance committee finds reasons to keep us in the dark.”

“Military finance.  That’s Augustus Virnius,” Marcus Philius said, sorting through a pile of papers in front of him.  “After the Qunari nearly invaded the south not long ago they’ve realized we’re unprepared.  The more we can do to secure Seheron, the better chance we have of staving off those oxes.”

“Funding the army creates the illusion of security.” Dorian rubbed his eyes.  “Even if we don’t know where the money is going.”  Some days it seemed that being a Magister entailed little more than following money trails.  He’d come back to redeem the Imperium; he sat in meetings and pored over paperwork.  “We need someone who can tell us what’s going on up there.”

While everyone agreed on that, no one had any leads on how to make that a reality.  “I’ve managed to schedule a meeting with Carduelis in the Publicanium,” Maevaris announced.  “He may be able to help us get an in with the army, and see what their financial situation is on the front lines.”

“But can we convince the rest of Magisterium to halt the tax increase, that’s the real question.”  Lucrezia brushed the crumbs off the table.  When she looked up her cheeks were red.  Her breathing shuddered a bit. “My brother is talking about enlisting, so he can send us his commission.”

If Lucrezia’s family felt the brunt of the increased taxes, Dorian could only imagine how badly the rest of the Imperium fared; or, the rest of the Imperium that didn’t have direct ties to the Magisterium.

Historically, Magisters had always held the most power in Tevinter.  The Publicanium was a formality, mostly; but from what Mae had told him when he was sworn in, even the little power they held was waning fast and their numbers thinned as some struggled to pay to keep their seats.  The Magisters would soon be the _only_ power in Tevinter if the Lucerni couldn’t keep pace.

Their meeting adjourned an hour later.  Mae headed further down in the city to see Atticus Carduelis, leaving Dorian with Marcus and Lucrezia. “My family’s predicament isn’t uncommon,” she told him after they bid farewell to Marcus.  “I heard of a wine merchant family that sent their sons to the army and never received the commissions.  They also never heard from their sons again. They lost their shop when they couldn’t keep up with the rent.”

“Not a word of their sons?” Dorian asked, and Lucrezia shook her head.  “Not even a notice of condolence?”

“It’s as if they disappeared into thin air,” she said.  “My father also told me about other merchants, not quite so well off as our family, considering selling their shops just to survive.  The wine merchant on the corner from my parents’ shop signed with another Magister to rent out the shop.  Less taxes.”

Dorian nodded slowly.  Soporati families commonly indentured themselves to wealthy Laetan or Altus families when the price of freedom grew too high.  Poorer Laetans often applied as pages or secretaries to Altus families and Magisters.  The Iron Bull’s lieutenant, Krem, had been the son of tailors who’d sold themselves into slavery.  It was easier to live as a slave than to live in poverty, scraping by on the lowest streets of Minrathous with the elves, lepers, and beggars.

“Your family bred a mage; they should be spared this hardship.” Dorian rested a hand on her forearm.

“ _We_ both know that.” She held one hand before her face.  Ice crystals formed around her fingers and she smiled.  “But it is not so easy in practice.  My being a mage does not pay their taxes.  And with raised taxes all the way around, less people can afford their product, so less money comes in that way.”

Dorian had been been raised in one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Tevinter.  Money had never been an object.  Now he understood why; the Magisterium did only what benefitted their own.  That meant money; that also meant slaves.  Higher taxes that people could not afford, meant more slaves.  More slaves meant more power to the wealthy mages and Magister families, and slaves were less than people.  They were possessions.

Now families like Lucrezia’s were suffering.  What did the wealthiest in Tevinter stand to gain by enslaving everyone else?  They would bask in their money as the Imperium came crashing down around them, crushed by the weight of its own decadence.

Dorian just had to follow the money.  Find where it went and divert it.  What he wouldn’t have given to still have access to Theo’s extensive resources...

Later that afternoon Maevaris stopped by his apartment.  She clenched her hands at her sides and while she tried to smile, her lips couldn’t hold it for very long.  She looked around his sitting room, as if she expected visitors.  “It’s rare for you to look less than stellar.”  When she didn’t respond, he cast his privacy webs and set a few extra traps for good measure.  

Only then did Mae stop quivering.  “Your sending crystal.  Does it work?”

Dorian’s didn’t intend for his laugh to sound quite so harsh.  “I wouldn’t know.”  He pulled the crystal out and watched the lazy pearly swirls beneath its surface.  “There’s this catch with it, you see.  Both parties have to be on speaking terms if it’s to work.”  The day had been too long, and ending it on this note frayed his nerves.  “What did Carduelis tell you?  What would it have to do with my ability to communicate with… anyone outside of Tevinter?”

“He has reason to believe that a new strain of lyrium came in, and it’s being mined by Tevinter soldiers.  He’s scared, Dorian.”

“They found a lyrium mine on Seheron?”

She shook her head.  “No.  Not all of the newly enlisted soldiers are making it to Seheron.  He’s not sure where, but it’s outside of the Imperium.  I’ve contacted Varric.  If you can contact the Inquisitor…”

Dorian sighed.  “He gave that role up.  Incidentally, he also seems to have given me up,” he added.

Mae’s expression softened.  “I’m sorry, Dorian.  Maybe it’s…  Or you just need to…”

For one of the first times ever she looked lost and uncertain.  “It’s not your fault.  It may even be mine, but let’s keep that between us?”  He asked.  She gave a hint of a smile and nodded once.  “I’ll see what I can find out.  It may not be much, but I’ll try.”

With that promise she left Dorian alone with his wards and traps, his sending crystal, and his regrets.  He took a deep breath, squeezed the crystal in his hand and then let it fall into his lap.  


	6. Kicking a Man When He's Down

#  Chapter 6: Kicking a Man When He’s Down

Alick and Cordelia didn’t take it well at all, but in the end they could do little to keep their two stubborn children from heading to Kirkwall.  Theo didn’t fight for it, but he also made it clear that he would be going.  “Don’t worry, I have Maranda with me,” he said with a smile.  

“I’ll protect him.” She grinned as lightning sizzled along her fingertips.  

What neither of them told their parents was that the new Chanter had been suddenly reassigned to Kirkwall just in time to accompany them.  Theo knew Maranda still didn’t trust Cardenio and he didn’t blame her.  He didn’t know what information Cardenio knew and how he’d come by it, though he suspected Leliana could be involved.  

The real mystery, and the one thing that raised suspicious: when Cardenio insisted he bring his bow.

The bow had been an extension of his arms.  Theo felt a peaceful focus whenever he nocked an arrow, even in the thick of fighting. These days he was learning to hold his own in a close fight, just a matter of repurposing his skills.  Cardenio taught him how to use the shadows to his advantage in close combat, and how to compensate for the fact he only had one hand.  According to Cardenio, what most saw as a liability, Theo could turn into an asset.

Fighting gave him something to focus on other than missing Dorian.  He’d started letters, only to crumple them and throw them in the fireplace.  He’d stared at the sending crystal, wishing for it to activate; and the times that it did left him in terrified silence.  He had so much to apologize for that didn’t know where to start.  It was easier to say nothing at all.

For three years, even in the face of death he and Dorian had refused to say goodbye to one another, and in one moment of hurt and uncertainty Theo had not only let Dorian leave, but had made it final.

_ “I’m not saying goodbye,” Dorian said hopefully, tears in his grey eyes. _

_ Theo’s ribs felt too tight.  Phantom pain twinged in his nonexistent hand.  He looked around and saw his (useless) bow and arrows.  He’d just dissolved the Inquisition officially.  And now Dorian held him a crystal dangling on a chain. Theo took the crystal and looked at it.  Dorian wasn’t saying goodbye? _

_ “I am,” Theo said.  He retreated to the bathroom before Dorian could see him lose it.  Everything gone, overnight. _

He was angry with Dorian for leaving; but angrier with himself for being such an ass about the whole thing.

Would Dorian even take him back?

The thought kept Theo up at night even on the road to Kirkwall, staring at the ceiling in the small roadside inn a day out of Ostwick.  He lost himself in the thought, which got him thrown off his horse when he was more focused on his wedding ring than what had spooked Arion.  It was easier to tell his family Dorian was too busy as a new Magister than to tell them the truth: he’d pushed Dorian away with his own pride.

The weather held out, allowing Theo, Maranda, and Cardenio to make good time to Kirkwall.  The last time Theo had been this way, the trip felt interminable: every night the whole retinue had to stop early for prayers and sermons before dinner.  The routine made travel painfully slow and took any joy out of the road trip.  This time they stayed in inns, and even taking their time they were doing well.

Arion stopped in the middle of the road.  Theo shook his head and emerged from the fog of thought and prodded his horse with his heels, but Arion refused to move.  The bushes at the roadside rustled and four men dressed in dark colors stepped out.  “Lookit here,” one said with a grin that revealed a missing tooth.  “What do you call a one-armed man, a pretty lady, and a Chanter on the road at this hour?”

“Fresh meat,” another said, and they guffawed with laughter.

“If you want coin I can do that,” Theo said evenly.  He’d negotiated this sort of thing before.  Of course, it rarely worked, but at least this gave him a moment to assess the situation.  The four men were big and burly, but Cardenio would be fast with his blades.  Maranda had reined in Dora, but she tucked a hand against her torso, cradling a tiny ball of lightning.  

“Coin will be nice.  And that fancy cloak pin you’re wearing, wouldn’t mind that,” the third man said.  “And the necklace.”

“No,” Theo told him.  He sat deep in the saddle to balance himself; his hand shook with anger.  Both the pin and the sending crystal necklace were gifts from Dorian, and he would not give those up.  

“And that pretty bow.  What’s a one-armed bastard like you doing with such a nice piece of equipment?” the second man asked.

The bandits were on foot.  They were on horseback.  Theo tried to catch Maranda’s eye, but too late: one bandit dropped a smoke bomb.  The horses started; Arion spooked and reared up.  Theo leaned forward into his horse’s neck but he crashed to the sun-baked road-- far less forgiving than the muddy yard.  He reached for his knife, but one of the bandits kicked him in the side.  His eyes watered and his throat burned from the smoke.  His first actual fight, and he was getting his ass thoroughly kicked.

Lightning crackled through the choking smoke and a bandit shrieked.  Another made a gurgling sound and blood spattered the road.  One man planted a boot on Theo’s chest, driving the air from his lungs as he bent down and yanked the sending crystal off of his neck.  He ripped Theo’s light cloak when he went for the brooch.  And then he laughed and kicked his left elbow.

The pain shouldn’t have shot down to his very fingers, but it did and that made it even worse because he had no fingers to feel the pain.  Theo gritted his teeth together and tried to get to his feet to stagger after the man.

He heard the scream before the smoke cleared.  He squinted through the haze and saw a hulking shape holding onto the remaining bandit. “I respect you needing to make a living,” the Iron Bull said in an easy, conversational voice. “Times are tough for some.  You gotta do what you need to survive, so long as you can fall asleep at night, right?”

“I sleep fine you fucking ox,” the man snapped as he yanked his left hand out of the Qunari’s huge fist, clenched around it, to no avail.

He sighed. “It’s  _ Bull.  The  _ Iron Bull. And you didn’t let me finish. What I can’t respect is you kicking a man while he’s down.”  He squeezed his fist and the man screamed.  “Hand over the shinies.”  The man shook his head and Bull squeezed harder.  Theo heard the crunch from where he knelt in the dust.  At last the two jewels dropped from his other hand and he collapsed, clutching his crushed hand.  “It’s just dislocated,” Bull told him.  “Painful, but you can get back to petty theft in a few weeks, where you’ll just run into me or my boys again and next time we’ll break your entire arm.”

The man shook his head and threw Theo a baleful glare before he scuttled away-- right into Cardenio, who had been holding out his knife.  Cardenio shrugged, wide eyes innocent.  “He ran into my knife,” he explained, kicking the final thief to the ground and wiping blood off his blade.

“Look at you, saving my ass yet again.” Theo got to his feet, the irony and awkwardness not lost on him; it had been Bull who’d chopped off his arm.  He knew, logically, that Bull was just doing what he needed to to save him, but every time he thought he’d sorted his emotions out, new ones tangled up inside of him.

“I was aiming for saving the girl, but you’ll do.” Bull grinned, his one eye fixed on Maranda.  She’d dismounted and held Dora’s reins tightly.  “Unless your sister’s off limits?”

“Take it up with her.  She could probably kick your ass.  She kicked his,” he said with a nod to Cardenio, who was wiping blood off of his knife.  “This is--”

“Cardenio, you chanting bastard,” Bull said.  “I thought you were supposed to be toughening him up.”

“With a few more months, maybe.  Still, he’s doing well.”

“Wait, you  _ know _ each other?”  Theo held up his hand.  “Of course you do.  I don’t even want to know.”  He took the sending crystal and the brooch back from Bull.  The chain was broken, so he shoved it into a deep pocket.  His cloak was torn, so the brooch joined the crystal in his pocket. He’d have to get everything repaired in Kirkwall.

Bull whistled and the rest of the Chargers emerged from the woods.  Most of them also already knew Cardenio, and Theo made a note to have some strong words with Leliana in the near future--assuming he could figure out where she was at these days.  Krem, Bull’s lieutenant clapped Theo hard on the right shoulder.  “Good to see you again, Boss.”

“Not sure I’m the boss anymore.” Theo checked his unused knives before clucking to Arion.  His horse ambled over.  “But it’s still good to see you. You didn’t just conveniently appear when we were most in need though,” he pointed out.  He put his foot in the stirrup and gripped the saddle at what would have been an otherwise awkward angle. A lifetime of drawing a heavy bow had resulted in good upper body strength. He took a deep breath and launched himself up into the saddle.  

“We were a day behind you out of Ostwick. We thought we could make it from the Storm Coast in time to meet you before you left, but at least we were able to catch up with you in the nick of time,” Krem said.  A wagon drawn by two draft horses rolled into view and he vaulted into it.  Bull walked alongside and they kept a slow pace.  Even though Theo knew Cardenio was deadly with his blades, he’d fought alongside the Iron Bull and Krem and he trusted them with his life. And… it  _ was _ good to see them again.

“What were you doing on the Storm Coast?” Theo’s stomach twisted a bit. The Storm Coast held many uncomfortable memories.

“Doing some digging for Varric.”

The pieces began to come together.  “Of course.  Varric gets me to Kirkwall, you and Bull and the Chargers meet up with me…” He sighed. “It’s not in me to stay out of things, at least not completely, but I really meant it when I said I was through saving the world.”

“Sure you did,” Bull called. “Just like Nightingale meant it when she said she was going to retire to an estate in Orlais and breed nugs.”

At least that cleared up what Leliana was doing with herself. But Bull had a point that Theo couldn’t argue, so he just spurred Arion into a trot and set a quicker pace along the road.

“Old friends bringing back some memories?” Maranda asked, trotting Dora up beside him.

Theo nodded. “Something like that.”

She glanced back. “They’re up to something.”

“That’s how the Chargers are,” Theo told her, unable to mask a smile. “They’re going to rope me into whatever is going on.”

“You  _ can _ say no,” Maranda told him. “But you won’t,” she guessed, and his thoughtful silence was confirmation enough.

* * *

 

Varric had only wanted to use his influence, courtesy of the Inquisition, to start improving Kirkwall. The nobles took that to mean he wanted to be in charge, so he’d been elected Viscount.  _ No good deed goes unpunished, especially for the Inquisition, _ Theo thought as they rode into the city a day and a half later. The city looked cleaner and brighter than Theo remembered from a few years back.  He knew how much Varric loved Kirkwall, so at least it was improving.

Varric’s Seneschal, Bran Cavan, met them at the stables. “The Viscount is in a meeting at this time, but he asked me to come greet you on his behalf,” he said, barely hiding a yawn.  His bored gaze swept over Theo and Maranda.  “Lord and Lady Trevelyan, I gather.”

“Just Theo, please,” he said at the same time his sister broke in with, “Maranda.”  They glanced at one another. “Grew up in the Circle,” she reminded him. “I wasn’t ever a lady.”

Bran shrugged.  “It’s all the same to me, really.”  Theo believed him.  “Chanter, someone will guide you to the Chantry.”  Cardenio bowed his head, and Theo wondered just how that charade would play out-- or which identity was the true charade.  “Lieutenant Aclassi--”

“Krem.  We’ll be at the Hanged Man in the usual place,” Krem said with a grin. “I’m guessing his Importance will send for us when we’re needed.” Krem headed off to join the other Chargers.

Theo and Maranda followed the seneschal through the streets of Kirkwall. The sun bore down overhead and a few gulls soared in the cloudless sky. Both were dusty from traveling, and Theo really would have preferred a meal, a wash, and a rest first. He told himself it was because he was tired from traveling, that it had nothing to do with meeting up with Bull again, and from being marched toward Varric’s offices in the Viscount’s Keep. He swallowed against his stomach trying to crawl up his throat.

It was cooler in the Keep, though tall windows still let sunlight in and warmed the stone floors where it hit. Bran led them up several staircases and finally rapped on Varric’s door. “Your guests from Ostwick.” He stepped back to let Varric’s first appointment out before Theo and Maranda could go in.

Varric’s guest was average height with a slim build, and moved lightly on her feet. The Queen of Ferelden didn’t wear a gown, or even a circlet to show her station, but Theo recognized her nonetheless from the paintings he’d seen in Ferelden. Their eyes met for one moment. Her skin was pale and her face shadowed and tired-looking, but her eyes widened when she saw him.  Before he knew if he was supposed to bow or offer his fealty or whatnot, Queen Fianna Cousland-Theirin had brushed past him, bounded down the stairs, and out of sight.

“Really, Varric? You know how Ferelden feels about me,” Theo said by way of greeting.

Varric broke into a smile and hopped out of his overstuffed leather chair. “Fletch!  Good to see you again! This must be your sister. The resemblance is uncanny.”  Varric turned to Maranda and bowed.  “Milady, may I welcome you to Kirkwall?”  He stared up at her and took her hand before brushing his lips over her knuckles. Maranda blushed. “And you.”  He spread his arms out and took in Theo.  “If you _weren’t_ unkempt I probably wouldn’t recognize you. Have a seat.”

Theo sat down, scratching his beard and tucking his hair behind his ears. Varric’s relatively spacious office had scrolls, sheets of paper, and ledger books open and spread over every surface. Just now he had a map open on his desk. It was upside down from Theo’s perspective, but he recognized the northern Ferelden coastline. Another map off to the side looked like a maze.  

“First off,” Varric said, sitting down and putting his feet up on the desk, bootheels digging into the Waking Sea, “Fianna is here not as the Queen of Ferelden, but as a Grey Warden.”

“Doesn’t make her not-the-Queen-of-Ferelden,” Theo pointed out. “Because Arl Teagan needs more reasons to come after my head again?”

Varric waved a hand. “I’ll let her explain later.  Second, how much contact have you had with Sparkler recently?” Theo clenched his jaw and looked away from Varric, over his shoulder and out the window. He caught the barest glimpse of ocean from here.  The crystal felt heavy in his pocket. By the time he’d left his suite at the Winter Palace most everyone had headed out. He was left with the broken pieces of what he’d built, both with the Inquisition and with Dorian.

“Some,” he finally said.

“You’re a lousy liar, Fletch,” Varric said. He folded his hands and rested them on his stomach. Theo chewed on his bottom lip. Varic watched him. “No, he hasn’t contacted me.  But my cousin’s wife Maevaris has, and she’s given me some insight about what they’re up against.” Theo looked down at his hand and fiddled with a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. “She had me look into something a few weeks back, and depending on what Tiny and his crew found, we may need to take a trip.”

“I’m done saving the world, Varric. I can give you what information I have if it’s going to help you.”

“No one’s asking you to save the world,” Varric told him. “But I think Sparkler could use your help.”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “Kicking a man when he’s down? I didn’t think that was your style. You don’t know what happened between us.”  Next to him Maranda slouched back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Varric swung his legs around and leaned forward against his desk. He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a key. “You’re right, I don’t. Here. Why not go and get settled, and then we’ll have dinner over at the Hanged Man. I’ll even show you around; you’ll be amazed how the city’s changed.” Theo wished he wouldn’t be so calm and accepting; it meant Varric was up to something.  Everyone was, and all he wanted was to be done with it.

Or so he told himself.

* * *

 

Varric had procured for them a cozy but elegant townhouse that overlooked the ocean. Maranda opened the balcony doors and relaxed on the chaise in the hot sun as soon as Varric and Bran left. It felt good to finally sit down somewhere other than a saddle. She’d pulled a book off of the stocked bookshelves:  _ All This Shit Is Weird: A Memoir _ by Varric Tethras. “So how true is this?” she asked Theo when she saw him eyeing the book.

“If you want a highly sensationalized account of some of the stuff I did, you can read this.” He joined her out on the balcony. “The reality is…”

“It took a lot from you,” she observed when his voice trailed off and his eyes stared at things only he could. “Beyond the obvious.” Theo leaned on the railing, looking down to the ocean.  He’d had a quick wash and changed into clean clothes. He held his necklace, the one with the strange crystal on the now-broken chain, in his hand. He never talked about what it was, but she could feel the magic in it.

Theo shrugged. “I mean, there  _ was _ some weird shit… this one time a guy catapulted a goat into the walls. And ask Krem about the flying nug episode.” He turned his hand over; the crystal rested in his palm and caught the sunlight.  “Can I ask you something?  It’s kind of personal.”

She shifted so she could see him better. “I  _ am _ your older sister, even if we didn’t know each other for most of your life.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, yes, you can ask.”

“Have you ever  _ really  _ fucked up?” He chewed at his lower lip while angling the crystal to catch the sun in its facets.  “Not just messed up, but something you can’t come back from.  And you’re not an abomination, so clearly I don’t mean just mage things.”

Maranda’s fingers tingled. The sky was clear, but there was a line of dark clouds far out on the horizon. “My Circle stayed as neutral as they could, for as long as they could. Then the war came to us.” She was content to leave it at that. Her parents had never asked why her clothes were stained with blood when she showed up that night. But Theo watched her with his haunted eyes. She supposed that his missing arm was just the only visible sign of the awful things he’d seen

“His name was James,” she told him. She sat up straighter and hugged her knees to her chest in spite of the heat. It had been a winter day, she remembered that. It was only warm because the rebels had set fire to the buildings. She didn’t burn because she’d managed to keep her barrier strong enough to withstand the flames. “He was right behind me and someone came up behind  _ him _ and hit him with a spell. I just kept going. Never looked back.” She took in a shuddering breath. “It wasn’t like in the books, either.  He didn’t bravely tell me to run and live my life or to avenge him.  I kept moving and he died.”

“I’m sorry.”  

“You  _ did _ ask,” she pointed out. She didn’t care to keep remembering this; it haunted her enough in her dreams. “You want my opinion?”

He shrugged. “You  _ are _ my big sister.”

“You fucked up, but you can come back from this. You’re both alive. You have a way to contact each other, but you just have to stop being such a stubborn ass. I saw the way you looked at each other.  What you have with Dorian? It’s worth more than your stupid pride will ever be.” She’d have given anything to have James back, if just long enough to apologize.

He managed a smile. “I know.  I’m just afraid now. What if he--” They heard a clatter from inside the house. “Andraste’s tits, what now?” he muttered, heading in.

Maranda followed, but only as far as the doorway. Cardenio had let himself in, something she wasn’t too keen on; Theo assured her the Chanter-assassin was trustworthy, but his impish grin made her wary. With Cardenio was a slim, blonde elf who’d cut her own hair while drunk. That was the only explanation Maranda could come up with.

“This him, then?” The elf leaned forward and peered up at Theo. Her hazel eyes inspected him critically, then her face broke into a wide grin, revealing a couple crooked teeth. “This is going to be fun, yeah,” she said. “Where’s your bow at?”

Theo glanced between the elf and Cardenio, who held his hands out in front of him. “Don’t look at me, I just Chant.”

The elf snorted. “Load of shite-bollocks, that is. Just Chant my arse. So where’s your bow?”

“It’s over… I don’t even know you,” Theo said suddenly.

“Viscount Varric, he’s got nicknames, yeah? And they all mean something. He doesn’t give you a nickname unless it fits. He calls you Fletch.  Like arrows. He wouldn’t call you that if you didn’t have a bow, so I don’t even have to know  _ you _ to know you shoot.” Her explanation sounded perfectly reasonable. “Oh, and Denny here told me.” She winked.

Theo fell back on a sofa. “The bow is over by the door,” he said with a wave, hardly even looking to see where she was going.  

Maranda sat next to him. “Is this some of that weird shit?”

Theo laughed. “No.  This is relatively normal.” Then he sighed. “Everyone is up to something. I’m sorry you got dragged along.”

“Don’t be.” She dropped Varric’s book next to him on the sofa. “Even if strange elves and assassin-Chanters is the craziest thing that happens here, it’s still more interesting than Circle life. And accounting,” she added as an afterthought.

“I’m involved. This won’t be the craziest thing by far,” he said, running his hand through his hair.

“Imma borrow this.” The elven woman held his bow out before her. “Pretty thing, it is.”  Her eyes swept over him. “I’d keep it too.”

“Hey, don’t you--”

“I’m not making you take the piss.” She rolled her eyes. “If I got my arm chopped off I’d keep a bow this pretty too. Just because you can’t use it right doesn’t mean it doesn’t mean something, yeah?  But I want to borrow it.  You’ll thank me.” She turned toward the door and sauntered out, holding Theo’s next-most prized possession.  

He jumped out of his seat and ran after her, but Cardenio stepped in front of the door. “She took my bow.  Let me through,” Theo commanded.  

“You can fight me for it,” Cardenio offered. He slipped off his Chanter’s robe, revealing the arsenal of blades strapped to his hips, back, and thighs.  “Don’t worry, I won’t kill him,” he told Maranda with a grin, remembering her force spell. “I can fight you too, if you want.” 

Maranda shook her head. “Maybe another time.”  She headed back out into the sun and settled back on the chaise. She sighed when she heard the clatter of blades coming from inside, and the occasional grunt or crash.  This may have been Theo’s normal, but it was far from average. The tingling in her hands reminded her of the incoming storm. Still, the sun was warm and she was tired.

_ You would have liked it here, James, _ she thought as the gulls called overhead. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes closed until she saw stars, but the heat and tears had abated. She took a deep breath, smelling the salt air and sun-baked stones and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

This time Varric himself came to the door to show Theo and his sister to the Hanged Man pub. Dusk had fallen, and streetlamps had been lit.  Varric looked around as they walked, smiling and relaxed, taking pride in his city.

“Doesn’t your seneschal worry about you walking around town like this?” Maranda asked, glancing about her. She’d been living outside a Circle long enough to feel more at ease in the world at large, but Kirkwall was… well, Kirkwall, after all.

Varric sniffed. “Bran keeps betting I’ll get myself killed on any number of damned fool adventures I go on, and he’s probably right. Aveline, my guard captain, she worries more than is good for her. I may be Viscount now, but I’ve been a Kirkwall fixture for my whole life, aside from the Inquisition years. Inquisition Years.  That sounds like a good title for your memoir,” he told Theo.

“I’m not writing a memoir.”

“Of course you’re not. The first thing I did when I came back though, was buy the Hanged Man.” Varric stopped before a well-lit tavern surrounded by closed up shops. Across the street two cats fought over a rat that squealed indignantly. Maranda raised an eyebrow. “It’s better on the inside,” Varric said. “And I had Corff call in a better chef than him for the night,” he added. “Only thing he knows how to make is stew.  That’s his word for throw everything into a pot and hope for the best.”  Varric chuckled.

“Sounds like what you used to make when it was your turn to cook while we were camping.” Theo looked up at the sign: a man dangling upside down by his ankles. His elbow itched and his missing hand tingled slightly.  He tried to shake it out and accidentally hit Varric in the back of the head.  

They entered The Hanged Man and Varric steered them toward the back of the tavern and into a large private room. Several glasses, many empty, already littered the table. Bull had a row of shot glasses lined up in front of him and the Queen of Ferelden was just finishing a shot of her own, which she added to  _ her _ line. The other Chargers played at cards. At the other end of the table Dagna, the Inquisition Arcanist, leaned against the shoulder of the blonde elf with the bad haircut.

“Have a seat,” Varric said with a bright smile, pulling up a chair to the head of the table and taking the ale mug someone handed him.

Theo looked around the room, at everyone carefully avoiding looking at him, at Varric leaning back so casually. “Going to tell me what’s going on?  Really?” he asked. “Fuck, just find me a Venatori and some red templars, and it’ll be just like old times!”  

“May as well tell him, Varric,” Bull said. Someone handed the Queen of Ferelden another shot, which she put back while keeping a deathly serious look on her face. “Here Boss, you’re going to need this.” He gestured for Theo and Maranda to sit and handed him a full ale mug. From across the table, the queen’s hazel eyes appraised him. Up this close, she didn’t look particularly royal. Her auburn hair hung loose over her shoulders, a scar slashed under her right eye, and she wore simple, comfortable clothing: the better to fight in. She wore a pendant around her neck that seemed to absorb the light.

Theo took his drink and swigged it back. Not the worst he’d ever had, and definitely not strong enough for the things Bull and Varric started to tell him.  He reached into his pocket and clutched the sending crystal to keep his hand from shaking.  So I’m willing to finance this voyage, because it seems that’s what I do,” Varric said with a chuckle.  

“What about everyone else?” Theo asked. “And what am I supposed to do? I’m borderline useless.” He waved his stump at Varric.

“That’s where I come in.” Dagna sat up, eyes sparkling. “I’ve been working on a few things that I’ll show you. And this is Sera,” she said, indicating the elf. “She’s...”

“Your archery teacher, yeah?” Sera said with another crooked grin. She dropped a full shot glass into her beer and chugged the concoction. “You’ve been out of practice for a bit, not really your fault, but Widdle here told me you’d probably need help so that’s what’s what and where I come in.”

It was like being named the Inquisitor all over again, all these motley people looking to him and preparing him to be someone he wasn’t. “And what about you?” He turned his eyes on the queen, because it was easier to put her on the spot than to think about everyone watching him and waiting. “Arl Teagan didn’t have enough to blame me for a few months ago?”

The queen reached across the table and grabbed Bull’s half-empty mug of ale. She tipped it back, drank down the contents, and handed it back to Bull. He just narrowed his eye at her. She finally turned her gaze on Theo. “Sorry about him.  We weren’t really happy with how he took things, but Alistair and I had things we were seeing to. As for why I’m here…”  She brushed her fingertips over her pendant. “I’m your Deep Roads guide.”

Theo had been to the Deep Roads once, briefly, and he had no desire to return. “I’m still not sure it’s a great idea for me to go into the bloody Deep Roads with the Queen of Ferelden,” he told her.

She shook her head.  “It’s Fianna, and I don’t go as the queen. I go as a Grey Warden.”  She suddenly swept the row of shot glasses off the table.  They smashed on the floor and crunched under her boots as she got up and stormed out of the room.

“Only good thing about her being a Warden is that I finally found someone who can keep pace with me,” Bull finally said. He turned his one eye on Theo. “What Fianna didn’t tell you is she’s going as our guide because she got the Calling. She’ll die if she has to, to make sure we’re successful on this expedition.”

“I still don’t know why you need me.” 

“You’re our link to Tevinter,” Varric said. “Whatever you find down there, you need to let Mae… and yes, Sparkler, know.”

“I need to go.” Theo pushed back his chair and swept out of the Hanged Man and into the balmy Kirkwall night. He walked fast, heedless of his surroundings, until he found himself on the docks and could go no further.


	7. The Long Road

#  Chapter 7: The Long Road

“Ta da!” Dagna’s face beamed and her eyes sparkled as she looked between Theo and the thing on the table. “It’s a prototype, but it’s a start!  Gimme your arm.” Theo sat down and rested his elbow on the table while Dagna worked to fit the fake arm up against his scarred left elbow stump. “We worked off the measurements tailors had made,” she said as she worked. “It may not be perfect--” she gritted her teeth and pulled at a strap that helped secure the prosthetic. “And I tried to design it so you can eventually do this yourself.”

Theo grunted as she tugged and then she stood back, pleased with herself. Theo looked down and his breath caught in his throat. The emptiness had been replaced with a skeleton of lightweight metal that resembled an arm and a hand. Of course it didn’t move like his arm had, but there was something there for the first time in months.

“Lift it up,” Dagna ordered. Theo obeyed. It was all surprisingly light, and while he could only move it up in front of him or off to the side, it was more than he’d had. “Your turn,” she said, turning to Sera.

Sera sat on the countertop in the kitchenette watching Dagna work. “Time for the best part.” She hopped down. “Come on, Fletchy.”  Theo followed her, which was easier than to try and mentally follow what she was getting at most of the time. In the time he’d been in Kirkwall Sera had watched him with a strangely critical eye while he fought with Cardenio. She specialized in taunting him; it had been distracting until the day he realized that was exactly what she was trying to do.

She’d leaned her bow against the wall by the door when she’d come in, and he saw his there, too. He half expected it to have been destroyed, or at least painted pink (Sera also had a fondness for pranks), but the deep reddish wood was polished and she’d strung it as well. “Right, so Denny’s good with the knives and all but you’re not a knife guy. Knives are good when you get in close with some wanker or other, but you.” She paused and leaned in, meeting his eyes. “You like distance. I can tell, I do too, yeah? So here’s the best part. Hold up your arm.”

Theo did as instructed. Sera positioned the grip against the palm of the false hand. Instantly the fingers and thumb locked around the grip, perfectly positioned. “I’m not giving you arrows yet, but at least draw,” she ordered.  

He held the bow out before him; the false arm was lightweight and the elbow had locked into place, allowing him to hold the bow out straight. The rest of his body settled into the familiar stance, back and shoulders straight and lined up with his hips. It was such a difference from the crouching movements Cardenio had been teaching him.  That technique involved making himself as small as possible to reduce the target area. This… 

Theo looked down the long, straight line of his arm-- _ his arm _ . He inhaled and drew the string. Sera had strung it lighter than he usually drew, but for now that was fine. He hadn’t thought he’d ever draw a bow again. “Feels good, yeah?” Sera asked with a crooked grin. “Oy, Widdle!  Come over here and give it a looksee!” 

Dagna came into the living room and clapped her hands. “It works!”

“You thought it wouldn’t?” Theo asked, lowering the bow. It didn’t fall from his hand. Useful… until he needed to drop it. “How…”

“Touch this.” Dagna guided his fingers to a rune up close to his elbow. He touched it and the bow clattered to the floor. “Contact runes,” she said proudly, holding up his bow. A rune had been etched into the grip, and she bent his forearm at the elbow joint and turned the hand to show the same rune on the palm. “The idea is to get all your main weapons enchanted with this rune so you can at least hold them. It won’t be the same as a real arm, but you’ll be able to defend yourself better.”

“You try now,” Sera ordered. Theo positioned his left hand over the grip, and the fingers curled around it. He couldn’t help but smile. “We’re heading off for target practice,” Sera announced. She bent down and kissed the tip of Dagna’s nose and squeezed her hand. “Let’s go, yeah?”

Theo followed Sera out into the overcast day; the air smelled of impending rain. Sometimes Sera skipped a few paces, or looked up at the sky. “Rain’ll be shite for target practice, so it better hold off,” she muttered. “But there’s you, now.”

“Me?”

“Funny how you show up all mad and upset at everyone and their mother, but soon as you get an arm it’s like we’re all worthy of you being a decent sort again.”

“Ever try to shoot a bow with one arm?” Theo asked. “You can’t.”

“Yeah, well, why take that out on us though? Half of us you don’t even know. Well, it’s me you don’t know, and the Queenie Wardeny one… now she’s got the right to be mad. She saves the world from those shite-eating darkspawn things and now she gets to go die? What shite is that?”

“Saving the world  _ is _ pretty thankless.” They had reached a small field on the outskirts of the city. In the distance, the tops of the Vimmark Mountains were lost in the clouds. Somewhere out there lay the ancient Grey Warden prison that had failed to contain Corypheus. Everything that had made him had started here.

“You’re not dead,” Sera pointed out. “You could be. Fuckit, you probably  _ should  _ be, but here you are still. You could do something. You could do anything. I mean you’re doing something, you’re wallowing, and that’s no fun.” She stuck her tongue out.

“Well what do  _ you _ do?” Theo countered. He followed her to the line and looked down range at the targets she’d set up. Most of them were straw dummies; some even had silver, Orlesian style masks and he wondered where she’d gotten those.  

“Put self-absorbed twats in their place.” Sera grinned. She lifted her own bow, nocked an arrow, and let it fly. She hardly looked at the targets, too busy grinning at Theo; but her arrow flew straight into the throat of one of the dummies. “Denny’s one of us too.”

“That… explains a lot,” Theo conceded. He took an arrow and nocked it. While he could hold the bow steadily, he couldn’t feel the arrow glide along his finger as he drew it back along the arrow rest. He drew back, feeling the tension in his back and shoulders. He took a deep breath, and on the exhale, released. The bowstring twanged against the metal. His aim was off and while his draw had been good, he realized he would need to compensate for not being able to feel anything below his elbow.  

His shot flew past the target, only to be lost in the tall grass.

“The first shot is the hardest, yeah? It’ll be better from now on, right?” Sera spent the next hour and a half working with him, helping him adjust his stance and posture to adjust for the weight of his prosthetic arm, and for the different draw weight of his bowstring. Eventually his left shoulder started burning with the effort of holding up his arm and his bow, and the fit of the prosthetic began to chafe. At least by the end he could hit a target; not very well, but it was a hit.

“I’m not a self-absorbed twat,” he told her as they headed back to town. A droplet of rain splattered on his head. “I have a lot I’m processing.”

“S’what they all say. Me, I say if you have to say it, then it’s true.” Sera looked up at the sky and shook her head as it began to sprinkle. “Varric, he likes you, and Dagna does too, and she’s not even mad that I think your sister’s a pretty one, so there’s that,” she said with a grin. “That stick up your arse though, that from being the high and mighty Inquisitor? Ever think that, now you’re not him, you could take that out and be someone else?”

“I’m trying. It’s not exactly a short road to follow,” he told her. “I went from being no one, to being the Inquisitor, and now I’m not sure who to be. So much of my identity was tied up in being him.”

“Well, what do you want? Don’t think about why you can’t have it because that’s shit thinking, right? You wanted to shoot a bow again, and bang, you’re shooting. So yeah, strange shite can happen.  All this shit is weird, yeah?  You’re walking proof of weird shit happening.”

The only thing he truly wanted was to have Dorian back again. Couples broke up and reunited all the time; surely that wasn’t “weird shit”. So why did it feel so difficult?

When he got back the townhouse was empty. Everyone had some sort of preparation for this Deep Roads expedition, and he supposed learning to fight, whether with knives or with his bow, was part of his role. Still… Varric had called him the link to Tevinter. Whatever was happening on the Storm Coast had the potential to hurt Dorian. That alone was reason enough to go.  He couldn’t stand the thought of Dorian hurting.

“Shit,” he said aloud, standing in the middle of the sitting room. “I really  _ am  _ a self-absorbed twat.” He’d spend so much time thinking of how much he’d been hurting; how much of an ass he’d been and how scared he was. He’d been the one to turn his back on Dorian, when Dorian needed him most. And even if Dorian wouldn’t take him back, Theo owed it to him to at least let him know that he knew how wrong he’d been. What Dorian decided to do after that was up to him, and Theo would not-- _ could not _ \-- fault him for it.

He headed to his room and locked the door behind him. He was not leaving until he’d spoken to Dorian. He settled on his bed, sending crystal in hand. What did Dorian do during the days and nights now that he was a Magister?  Meetings, parties… he imagined Dorian, _his_ Dorian, flitting through the crowds, flashing his dazzling smile; standing before a room full of politicians and wooing them with his warm voice.  

It was hardly dusk. He’d be bothering him.  

The sky grew darker. Theo heard voices outside his door. Someone knocked softly once, but he held his breath and kept himself still, like he used to when he was a child and didn’t want to be found. The crystal weighed heavily in his sweaty hand.

Only when he started awake to moonlight and silence, crystal still in his hand, did he realize he couldn’t put it off any longer. It didn’t matter if Dorian would be mad at him for waking him up; it was just one more item on a well-deserved list. Theo rolled over on his side and opened his hand.  The moonlight caught the facets of the crystal.  He didn't know what to do with it, so he just clutched it and started talking.

“Dorian?  Dor, are you there?”


	8. It's Complicated

#  Chapter 8: It’s Complicated

A few faintly glowing embers turned the hearth orange with their light. Dorian shoved aside yet another of the old texts that he’d acquired from the great library at the Minrathous Circle earlier in the week. Again, nothing.  While once the Tevinter Imperium had stretched as far east as Ferelden and as far south as the Korcari wilds, there was nothing that explained why slavers would have an interest in the Storm Coast. He yawned and pulled the next book from the pile and  touched his fingers to the lamp wick. The lamp burned bright again, and he flipped open the cover, even though the title itself began blurring before his eyes.

_ "Dorian? Dor, are you there?” _

He sat up straighter, looking around. “Theodane?” he whispered. The lamp cast shadows around his apartment. No. Theo would not be here, in his quarters. It was asking too much.

Then he wanted to slap himself as he shoved back his chair and dashed into the bedroom. Sure enough the sending crystal pulsed with soft, pearly light. He zapped himself with a small bolt of lightning; it left him tingling and blinking and definitely awake, and the crystal was still there, still pulsing. He flung himself on the bed and grabbed it. “Theodane?... _ Amatus?” _

Silence. He knew it had been too much to hope for. He sighed and rolled over on his back. The moonlight sliced through the windows and across the rumpled sheets. He really needed to get some rest.

“Did I wake you?”

Dorian stared at the crystal. “Are you really there?” he asked instead of answer the question. It had been months since Theo had said goodbye. He’d never stopped loving him, but had nearly given up hope of ever hearing from him again.

“I’m here.” Theo tried to cover the crack in his voice with a laugh. “Three months too late, but I’m here. Andraste’s arse, I’m so, so sorry, Dor.  So sorry.”

Dorian swallowed the painful lump lodged in his throat. “I should certainly hope you are,” he finally managed. 

“You have no idea,” Theo told him. “And if you can’t forgive me that’s okay, I wouldn’t forgive me either for being such a fuckwit. But just… just let me apologize before anything else.”

Dorian closed his eyes and pretended they were not in their spacious bedroom in Skyhold, but the tiny, cobwebby library in the basement that had been their special place. The image of Theo, shoulders slumped and staring at the floor as he stammered and tripped over his apologies gave him a pang in his chest. “You were under quite a bit of pressure toward the end, love,” he finally said. “I--”

Another hoarse chuckle. “Please, Dor.  Don’t make excuses for me. I’ve made more than enough over the last few months, and it’s been completely unfair to you.” He paused.  Dorian heard him blow his nose. “You needed me. You needed me more than you ever had before, and I shut you out. I love you, and that was inexcusable. I… I hurt you.  I betrayed you and hurt you in the worst way possible and I’m  _ so, so sorry _ .”

_ I’m not saying goodbye. _

_ I am. _

“That’s exactly what you did,” Dorian told him. It had hurt worse than any demon’s claws or any mages’s spell or warrior’s sword. He’d spent the trip to Minrathous in a heady daze of grief over his dead father and his wrecked marriage. He’d hardly slept because of the way demons were drawn to his pain. The spirits of the Fade helped as they could, but some nights Dorian’s anguish was too strong. “It  _ was _ rather unfair of you,” Dorian finally conceded. He wiped his nose with a silk kerchief and rubbed the hot tears from his eyes. “I know you were hurt by--”

“Dor. No excuses for me, please. Anything that happened that day?  You couldn’t control it. I couldn’t control anything but my reaction, and I reacted like a spectacular asshole. You deserved better, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed it.”

Dorian held the crystal to his lips as if he could kiss Theo through it. He loved hearing Theo’s voice; but there was so much more to it all. Every time Dorian had been hurt by someone he trusted, it had been turned around back on him.  Now, Theo refused to allow Dorian to make any concession, instead acknowledging how he’d hurt him. Dorian was raw. He was angry. He was… so grateful and so in love with Theo Trevelyan that he thought he might burst.

“Dor… I love you,” Theo said again, softly. “I meant it when I said I always would. I was just so ashamed that I hurt you, and then I was so scared, and now I just need you to know that I love you and am here for you, the way you always were for me.” He paused. “If you’ll still have me.”

Dorian ran his hand over his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “You ask the stupidest questions sometimes,  _ Amatus, _ ” he said at last.  

“ _ Amatus,”  _ Theo repeated, though his Tevene was terrible, and probably always would be. “Is it late?  Can you talk?”

“It’s well past midnight, but the late hour has never stopped us from speaking of important matters before.” Nights in Skyhold with the moonlight filtering through the tall windows and balcony doors. Pre-dawn hours at Griffon Wing Keep while the chill of night was still in the air. Under the stars in some camp or another, voices low and intimate. Time never mattered when they needed to talk. “What would you like to know?”

“Everything. Anything.”

Dorian told him all he could think of: his hopes, his fears, his nagging suspicions. How he hadn’t had the chance to truly grieve for his father, how his mother had given him an awkward hug before departing, how Halward had, surprisingly not left a mountain of unfinished business for Dorian to clean up after. “My father was efficient and an excellent records keeper.” He scratched his stubbly jaw. “I’ve searched through his offices and this apartment more times than you could count-- _ don’t _ make that joke about only being able to count to five, as I’m still cross with you,” he added, thankful Theo couldn’t see him smile. “I’ve wracked my brilliant mind many times and can’t figure out why anyone would want him dead.”

“I’m so sorry, Dor. I can’t imagine what you’re going through”.  

“It  _ would _ be far more bearable with your shoulder to cry on, I’ll give you that. Tell me what you’ve been up to, lest I drown in melancholy.” Theo started into his tale of the last few months.  Dorian closed his eyes; the sending crystal’s magic made it sound like Theo was right next to him.  “The Storm Coast?” he asked suddenly, interrupting Theo. “Maker’s breath, why are you going there?”

“You don’t know?” Theo asked, puzzled. “Varric told me you and Maevaris would need me to communicate what we discovered.”

Dorian rubbed his eyes. “We don’t know much, and I’ll have to have a word with Mae about planting suggestions in Varric’s ear. You shouldn’t go.”

A moment of silence. “You do know that, now that you’ve told me not to, I  _ have  _ to go.”

“It’s only been a few months since… everything that happened,” Dorian said. Theo responded with silence; Dorian hated bringing up his missing arm like this, but it was a legitimate concern regarding Theo’s safety.

“I’ve learned a few things,” Theo said in that evasive manner he had when he was winging it. “We’re just going to look into the situation.”

Dorian laughed. “Yes, because that is always exactly what happens when you’re involved,  _ Amatus _ .”

“Say that again, Dor.”

“ _ Amatus?”   _ He heard Theo sigh, but it wasn’t melancholy, and Dorian couldn’t help but smile. “Fine, then, my  _ Amatus _ .”  He glanced out the window. The moon had shifted in the sky as the hours passed. He had several committee meetings tomorrow, and much as he would have loved to keep hearing Theo’s voice, it would do no good to go into the day exhausted and unprepared, and he told Theo as much. “You’ll contact me again?” Dorian asked.  “This isn’t a one-off thing to get my hopes up?”

“Never. Though, I’ll be traveling with nothing to do; you have meetings and business to attend to. You should connect with me.”

“Will you answer this time?” Dorian’s voice shook a bit, but he couldn’t keep the fear completely at bay.  

“If I don’t answer, assume I’m dead,” Theo told him. “I love you Dorian; I let you go once and hated myself for it, because I knew I’d hurt you.”

“You can’t die. Remember? I’d drink myself into oblivion. On bad wine,” he added and Theo laughed. “You would do that to me?”

“Never. Dorian… I love you, and I really am sorry.”

“I love you too, darling. I forgive you. Mostly,” he added. “I’ll forgive you fully when I’m able to see you again.”

“I’ll wait. Sleep well.”

After, Dorian sat in a patch of moonlight staring at the crystal and remembering to breathe. The hurt was still there. There was still fear; Theo had said goodbye once, to Dorian’s face. What was to stop him from doing it again? But he had to trust him. He curled up in the center of his bed, crystal still clutched in his hand.

He slept fitfully as his mind wandered the Fade that night. Desire stalked the edges of his consciousness, though his spirit friends--were they friends?  They’d certainly been by him long enough, and gotten him through many a tight spot--attended to him there as well. Every time he turned about he thought he saw Theo’s face, or heard his voice. He shuddered to think how difficult his night would have been had he not had the assistance of the Fade spirits.

Still, when he dragged himself into his lyrium export committee meeting (a committee he’d unfortunately inherited from his father), it was obvious he’d not slept well. He’d had a very cold wash, followed by a very hot cup of strong black coffee. He managed to stay on his feet, but was already planning a very long nap later that afternoon.

His mind thought about everything  _ but _ lyrium exports and regulation, and his meeting was going the way they usually did. Dorian drummed his fingers on the polished wooden tabletop as Acacius droned on about the state of lyrium in the Imperium. “With the templars disbanded in the south, and those still serving not required to take lyrium any longer, there is a glut in the market. If we don’t impose stricter regulations, it will be out of control.”

“And you propose more taxes to discourage this?” Hadrian asked. “You realize a blanket tax would be more than people can handle, especially with the war against the Qunari in full force.”

Dorian surfaced from his sleepy haze. Hadrian was neutral; he didn’t belong to any particular faction in the Magisterium. He wasn’t an Altus, but he did have considerable wealth and a decent family line. If he opposed further blanket taxes, maybe he could be swayed to the Lucerni.

“Perhaps just an increase on the purchase of lyrium itself?” Tertian asked. 

“Then only those purchasing the substance would be affected. If they can afford lyrium, they can afford the taxes,” Dorian said. Everyone turned to stare at him. “Yes, I do listen,” he said with a slight grin. “Surprising, I know. But I move to either not tax at all, and just keep an eye on the markets; or if we’re going to squeeze more money out of the country, we do it to the people who can afford it.”

“I’m inclined to side with Pavus here,” Hadrian said.

“True, if defense is increasing their budget.” Sylvester looked up from examining his nails. “Though I don’t suppose the lyrium market will decline any time soon. We let defense take care of their thing, and then we’ll do ours, eventually. We can wait,” he said. “Besides, it’s best to see how the market continues to trend.”

Sylvester’s support was a pleasant surprise, though Dorian didn’t think he’d be swayed to the Lucerni. He was an old, fat Magister whom the current establishment had benefited. He had no incentive to investigate or eradicate any corruption. He likely wouldn’t even acknowledge any corruption existed. Still, this was something worth sharing with Mae the next time they met.

Talk turned to the situation in the south. Even though Dorian had spent time down south in the thick of Chantry and Circle politics, he didn’t care to discuss it much, and the old men of the Magisterium were content to pretend it had never happened. They were also content to believe that, for all his talk of reform, Dorian was no more than an upstart who had little interest in his father’s business.

He glanced around at the men talking and nibbling on grapes, laughing and congratulating themselves on their own cleverness and perceived magnanimity. “Why are there no Publicans on our committee?” he asked suddenly.

 A suffocating silence descended. “We’re the committee on _lyrium_ exports and regulation,” Acacius said slowly, staring at Dorian as if he’d turned simple. When Dorian didn’t respond he raised one eyebrow. “The Publicans aren’t mages. They have no use for lyrium.”

“Lyrium smuggling has always been a problem, even in a land of mages. Where there’s smuggling, there’s Carta.  Where there’s Carta, there’s crime. Crime affects everyone, mages and mundane types alike.” Dorian used the same slow, deliberate tone. He stared across the table at Acacius. He smiled pleasantly and began to feel much more awake. 

Acacius’s face turned the color of wine. “Are you suggesting we add Publicans to this committee?”

Dorian shrugged. Now that the idea had crossed his mind, he liked watching Acacius battle imminent apoplexy. “Magister Acacius raises the motion to add Publicans to the committee. I, Magister Pavus, second it.” He met Acacius’s bulging glare across the table.

“Aye,” Hadrian said. Dorian glanced over at him, but Hadrian wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Anyone else?” Sylvester asked when Acacius couldn’t form any words. Sylvester waited, but Tertian didn’t say anything. “Alas, overturned,” he said. “But well played, Pavus,” he added with a wink. “I think I speak for Chairman Acacius when I suggest we adjourn?”

The other Magisters filed out the door, but as Dorian made to exit Acacius grabbed his arm. “Your presence here is tolerated because of the groundwork your father laid,” he said in a low voice. “I’d suggest you honor your father’s memory.”

“You may as well say ‘or else’ at the end of that, Acacius.” Dorian deftly twisted his arm out of the fat old man’s grip. “And if by groundwork you mean the connections he held with the Carta, then I’d rather  _ not  _ honor that legacy. The Carta serves us at their pleasure; were they to turn on us, it could be disastrous, and I’ve seen firsthand the things of which they are capable.” Acacius stood with his mouth hanging open. “If you’re hoping to catch flies, continue to stand there like that, by all means. Otherwise, I’ll be leaving.” Dorian headed out the door but paused and looked back over his shoulder. “And Acacius, I’d suggest saving the thinly veiled threats for after business hours.  Or else.”

He left Acacius standing there with his mouth still hanging open, struggling for a retort, but Dorian didn’t feel any sense of satisfaction. Silence spoke more than words in the realm of politics. He’d played the Carta card casually, but Acacius’s inability to quickly address the matter, even with something offhand and obviously bullshit, was concerning.

 Maevaris waited for him at the café where they normally had lunch. Her staff rested against the stucco wall as usual, but she kept brushing her fingers over it as if reminding herself that it was still there. Her napkin remained folded before her, and she hadn’t touched her wine.

“You’re going to wear off the finish if you keep that up,” Dorian said as he took his seat across from her. He smiled and unfolded his napkin in his lap. Mae tried to smile back and folded her hands on the table before her to keep from unconsciously reaching for her staff again. “Are we expecting company?” He glanced around. Not that he took Acacius’s threat seriously, at least not in the middle of the day at a crowded café. Still, this  _ was _ Minrathous.

“Carduelis isn’t inclined to risk what little clout he has built up over the years,” she said at last. “Not if we can’t offer anything in return for his support.”

“That’s all?” Dorian asked, nodding thanks as a glass of wine was set before him. He placed his order. “You look like someone kicked your pet dracolisk.” Mae did crack a genuine smile, but it quickly faded. “What does he want?  Money?  Committee positions?” Dorian quickly told her about his suggestion in his morning meeting.

“Protection,” Mae said. Her lunch of a toasted flatbread topped with tapenade and sautéed fennel was set down before her, but she pushed the food around on her plate. “Several influential members of the Publicanium are talking about stepping down.”

Dorian dropped his bruschetta into the sweet vinegar reduction sauce that drizzled the plate. “Stepping down.” Mae nodded and now he understood her fear and agitation. He tried to smile and forced himself to take another bite of lunch. The tomatoes and basil atop the crispy herbed toast weren’t nearly as sweet as they’d been a few bites ago. “If they do that…”

Mae shook her head and forced herself to eat her lunch. Keeping up appearances was a basic tenet of being a Magister. Dorian made himself take another bite and gulped down his too-bitter wine. “That’s all he said,” she said a bit more loudly, in a tone that Dorian knew meant Carduelis had said far more. “I wonder where they source their olives from,” she said with a bright smile. “They’re fantastic.”

Dorian nodded and their conversation turned to Tevinter cuisine. Impatience made his stomach flip and twist and his hand shook slightly when he paid the bill. “I trust you’ll return tomorrow, Magister Pavus?” the maitre d said as Dorian and Mae took their leave. He smiled pleasantly enough; after all, as a soporati he was likely to do whatever he could to stay in the good graces of his Magister patrons. But after what Mae had told him, and after Acacius’s behavior, the simple farewell seemed like a challenge. Like he was daring Dorian to survive until tomorrow.

“Of course,” Dorian said with a bright smile. “After all, you have the best olives in the city.”


	9. Wagers

# Chapter 9: Wagers

The sea’s only boundary was the long, unbroken line of the horizon. The horizon didn’t change, but the sea never stayed the same: blue one day under a cloudless and sunny sky, melancholy green and grey the next as clouds rolled in; and at night, always black and endless around and under them. They were one wooden ship in the midst of this vast endlessness; what chance would they stand against the sea’s wrath?

Maranda thought if she went below decks, away from the vastness, she’d feel better. But below decks, she couldn’t ignore the fact that only the hull separated her from the infinite depths. Thankfully she avoided seasickness, and according to the captain of the ship Viscount Tethras had hired, they’d only be on the open ocean for a few days. It was still a few days too long for her liking.  

Theo’s motley company at least proved interesting, and she wondered again how her baby brother had managed to bring together such a disparate group of people. Perhaps the world just worked like this, though; the Ostwick Circle certainly hadn’t been a diverse slice of life.

She wandered up to the top deck the second day out. Her hands tingled and she squinted up at the cloudy sky. “We _are_ headed for the Storm Coast,” Theo told her when she mentioned it to him. He leaned against the railing, staring south-east as if he could will their destination into sight. The wind blew his dark hair back from his face and his nose was pink from too much sun the day before. “Do you think you made a mistake coming along?”

Maranda shrugged. “Hard to say. It didn’t seem right to head back home, but I didn’t know what I’d do if I stayed in Kirkwall.”

“Other than read Varric’s books?”

“I got about a third of the way through _All This Shit Is Weird_ and had to put it down. Not a favorite.”

“He’ll be absolutely wounded if he found out.” Theo grinned. “At least he was when I told him I didn’t really have any interest in reading it in the first place. It wasn’t personal, I just don’t want to relive things that way.” He turned around and leaned backward against the railing.  Maranda’s stomach dropped with fear, but he didn’t flip back overboard. He was at ease on the sea, and she tried to feel some of that same confidence, but couldn’t.

They watched Fianna and Cardenio circle one another in the center of the deck. The Queen had been elusive and quiet; she and Theo gave each other wide berths, refusing to acknowledge one another: an impressive feat, considering that on a ship there were only so many places to go and ways to avoid one another. The few times Maranda had passed her, Fianna just bobbed her head in shy greeting before hustling away.

Right now, however, there was nothing elusive or quiet about her as she dueled with Cardenio. The ship’s crew sat on the railing or on the steps up to the helm and cheered them on. The Iron Bull and his Chargers watched, and up by the helm itself Varric and the captain counted money and made notes in a ledger. Maranda’s interest perked up; the Ostwick Circle had been boring, but they’d made their fun when they could. She left Theo, skirted around the sailors, and approached Varric.

“What are the odds at?” The Viscount looked up at her, mildly surprised. “I used to run the books at the Circle. Off the record, of course,” she added.  

“Fletch didn’t mention that you could work numbers that way.” Varric watched as Fianna dodged Cardenio’s lunge. He winced when she disappeared behind the main mast, only to reappear behind Cardenio, daggers sweeping out at him. Cardenio barely dodged and Varric released his breath.  

“Theo and I have really only gotten to know one another in the last few months. I’m doubling your wager, betting on the Queen,” she said after glimpsing the columns of numbers in his book. She kept her eyes fixed on the fight. The captain, a Rivaini with sun-toughened skin, chuckled. “I’ll do the same with your odds,” she offered.

The captain raised a bushy eyebrow.  “How well do you know those two?” he asked.

“Don’t know her at all, and only met him when I thought he was trying to kill my brother.”

“How much are you paying me again?” he asked Varric, who told him. “Sure, why not lass.  If anything you’ve hooked my curiosity.”

Maranda scanned the numbers once more and added her wager in with a wax pencil. Cardenio was better armed; the sun glinted off any number of blades he had, and Maranda knew he had more in places no one could see.  Fianna, in contrast, had only her two light daggers and she focused on moving and sweeping them while Cardenio pulled out his tricks. Fianna easily dodges his throws, which _thunked_ into the deck and the masts loud enough to hear.  Each time a blade hit, the crew gasped and elbowed one another.

It was an exhibition fight, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t blood. Fianna had ghosted by Cardenio, drawing her blade lightly across his shoulder. One of Cardenio’s smaller blades grazed her ear as it whizzed by. Out of the corner of her eye, Maranda saw Theo leaning back against the railing, studying Fianna and Cardenio. Dagna was working below decks to enchant the runes on his prosthetic arm, as they’d had to leave sooner than anticipated; but Maranda had little doubt that her brother intended to continue learning how to fight one-armed.

The crew erupted in a chorus of groans: Fianna had reached around the smallest mast and had Cardenio pinned with her daggers across his throat. “Yield,” Cardenio called out, but he was grinning. Fianna dropped her daggers and sheathed them at her hips. “Well played, Warden.” He bowed, a hand at his throat. “You’ve kept in practice.”

“You can say it, you know. I’m old.”  She shook Cardenio’s hand. “All the same, thanks for the practice. Anyone who wants to fight the loser, go for it! I need to rest this old body.”  Fianna bowed low and the crew applauded, but quickly began grumbling as they made their way to the helm.

The captain glanced down at the ledger, then up at his crew. “You _all_ bet on the Antivan?” he asked, incredulous. “I would give you your bets back, but…” He gestured to Maranda. “Someone else took a bigger risk with the odds.”

For one moment Maranda’s stomach sank into her feet and she was certain she’d find out just how deep the ocean was in these parts. Being the former Inquisitor’s sister wasn’t going to hold any weight in this no-man’s land. “It’s alright, I don’t need--”

“A wager’s a wager,” one sailor said. “Besides, I think we can win that coin back.”

Maranda glanced up. Theo was talking to Cardenio, who nodded. “A challenger approaches!” Cardenio called, a huge grin on his face. “Place your wagers!”

“I’m betting on your brother.” Fianna Cousland settled next to Maranda. She tied her auburn hair back and squinted in the sun.  Cardenio and Theo whispered about something on the deck and Cardenio replaced his knives in his various holsters. “He’s scrappy and has nothing to lose.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips.

This close, Maranda saw the faint lines around Fianna’s eyes and the hollows of her cheeks were more pronounced. With a start Maranda realized Fianna was actually _younger_ than she was. Then again, Maranda knew little about the Wardens; whatever had made Fianna a Warden must have also contributed to her aging.  “One could say the same about Cardenio,” she said at last.

Fianna shook her head. “He’s flashy. He has a reputation to maintain, and that makes him get careless. He’s talented as shit with those knives of his, but get right down to it and you can see why no assassins guild would take him.”

“You can tell all this just by looking at him?”

“Nah. We chatted a bit back in Kirkwall. I drank him under the table.”

Maranda laughed; Fianna was thin and flexible and didn’t like like she could hold more than a glass of wine. Then again, she’d been matching the Iron Bull shot for shot, and he was easily twice her size. “Cardenio may be flashy and get a bit careless, but he still has two arms. That and Theo just started working with knives fairly recently, so I’m going to be cautious on this wager.” She held out her hand. “I’ll take your bet.”

Fianna shook it. Her hand was hot, and Maranda thought she felt some strange magic there, but Fianna withdrew her hand quickly and they turned to watch Theo and Cardenio on the deck below. The sun bore down overhead, and nearly everyone on deck had short or no sleeves; many of the crew had taken their shirts off.  Fianna wore long sleeves, even though she radiated heat. She rested her elbows on the railing and watched.

Cardenio lunged and swiped at Theo, who evaded it with an elegant back step and pivot. Cardenio heaved a knife Theo’s way, but he sidestepped that and ducked out of the way of Cardenio’s follow-up swipe. Cardenio buzzed past him, jabbing with one knife while he extricated his other from the door to the captain’s quarters.  Sweat ran down his face, but he paused to acknowledge the crowd; the sailors laughed. Cardenio nimbly hopped up the stairs and grabbed Maranda’s hand, meaning to kiss it, but she jerked her hand out of his.

More laughter, and Maranda blushed furiously. Cardenio winked, all but daring her to use the same force spell she’d used against him before, but this was Theo’s duel. Theo, for his part, had hopped up the steps to the helm on the other side, weaving through the gathered crew members. He heaved his knife at Cardenio, who dodged and backflipped off the railing and back onto the deck, bowing to the applause below. “It would seem you are disarmed,” Cardenio called, stooping to grab Theo’s knife.

“He’s not very original,” Fianna observed. Suddenly she spun around. “Give it back,” she snapped.

“Just borrowing,” Theo said breathlessly, his face red and glistening with sweat, and he held one of Fianna’s daggers. He launched himself off the railing and back to the deck before Fianna could snatch it back. He hit hard and rolled, jumping to his feet as Cardenio came after him. He circled around Cardenio, who lobbed his knives at Theo; Theo ducked; Cardenio sprung off of a windlass, grabbing the rigging hanging from the lowest crossbeam of one of the masts. He kicked Theo in the back; Theo stumbled forward.  Fianna’s dagger skittered across the deck.  Cardenio swung down and landed next to Theo, scooping up Fianna’s blade.

Theo went for one of his hidden knives, but Cardenio stepped on his wrist. Maranda gasped without meaning to. Cardenio knew this was just an exhibition, didn’t he? He wasn’t _really_ an undercover assassin, hired by any one of Theo’s enemies. Her mana welled up, force magic pulsing at her tingling fingertips as Cardenio bore down on Theo with Fianna’s dagger. “Yield?” he asked with a grin.

“Yield,” Theo said with a sigh. The money started changing hands as he got to his feet. His shirt was soaked with sweat and he struggled out of it, using the wad of clothing to wipe off his face.  He dropped it on the deck as someone tossed him a water skin. He retreated to the railing and drank deeply as he stared out to sea.

Fianna dug into one of the belt pouches at her waist and pulled out a small bag of coins. Maranda shook her head, but Fianna shook out the money and handed it over. “A wager’s a wager,” she said with a hint of a smile before she headed below decks.

Maranda rejoined Theo. “It was a good fight,” she said after a moment of silence. “I’m sorry you lost.”

Finally he shrugged. “I knew I’d lose.”

“The Queen bet on you.”

Theo snorted. “Probably felt bad for me.”  He set down the water skin and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Honestly, I just need all the practice I can get.” He trailed his fingers along the scarring that covered the end of his upper arm.  

“What do you think we’re going to find when we get to the Storm Coast?” Maranda stared out at the horizon. “You keep talking about learning to fight again and how important it is to you, but why?  What’s out there?”

“Varric says his Tevinter contact mentioned slavers. If the Warden Queen’s along, there’s probably darkspawn. Other than that?  No idea. I’d just rather not be caught defenseless, you know?” She nodded. “You can hold your own in a fight, right?” He peered at her, brow furrowed. “When you agreed to come along it never occurred to me to ask. I suppose I’m just used to mages who can fight.”

Maranda conjured a small ball of lightning at her fingertips. The arcs of electricity danced between her fingers before she waved her hand and the spell dissipated. “When my--our--uncles came to take me to the Circle, they made it clear that I was lucky our father had called _them_ and not any other templars, with what I could do.” She saw the telltale darkness in the sky to the west. “Uncle Cadan, especially, made me promise to be good and to focus on keeping the peace. Keep your head down, pay attention to your lessons, be a good girl, he told me. I never thought much about combat magic. Of course, then the whole system went to shit, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Theo glanced over at his sister. “So… what _can_ you do?”

She shook out her hands and focused on the clear, bright eastern sky. “I hope we don’t have to find out.”


	10. Embrace the Storm

#  Chapter 10: Embrace the Storm

Father never made it a secret that he was the one who had called on his brothers to come take his daughter. “You know what templars are, right Maranda?” She nodded. “And you know your uncles do a very important job in the service of Andraste and the Maker?” Another nod.

“And you know that we still love you?” Mother asked.

Maranda nodded. She cried, of course. Even though Mother and Father insisted they weren’t disappointed, that they wanted what was best for her, she couldn’t help but feel ashamed, like she’d let them down. “Can I say goodbye to Matty at least?” she finally asked. But he’d gone to town with his tutor that day, and Uncle Cadan, while kind, firmly insisted that they were to go straight to the Circle. He helped her up on his horse: a big grey gelding with a black and white mane and a crimson pad under his saddle. She held the rim of the saddle and he held the reins.  

“Shadow’s a good horse, lass,” Uncle Declan told her. He sat atop a nervous young stallion. “This boy here, he needs some training, so I took him out with Shadow so he can learn to calm down.”

“Is that what you’re doing for me?” she asked. “Keeping me calm?”

He smiled. “Yes, love.  You needn’t be afraid. You’re going somewhere to learn, somewhere you’ll be safe.”

She overheard her father, even though he tried to keep his voice soft. “She’s your niece, not a criminal.  I know you’re sworn to the Order, but… watch out for her.” She couldn’t look at him.  She’d learned all about Andraste and the mages and the evil Tevinter Imperium to the north. Magic was meant to serve people, not rule them, so she had to go to the Circle where she’d learn to serve. She tried to be brave. She pet Shadow’s neck the entire ride to the Circle. She answered all of the First Enchanter’s questions when she got there. She didn’t cry when they cut her arm and squeezed her blood into a small glass vial. This was right. She was a good girl, even if she was a mage.

She cried herself to sleep every night for the next two years.

* * *

Maranda buried her face in the bundle of clothing she’d wrapped up into a makeshift pillow. She blamed the traveling and lack of adequate sleep for her tears. Certainly not her memories; the Circle had been good for her. She closed her eyes and curled up in her hammock, but the ship rolled to one side, then the other, in a way that made it hard for her to fall back to sleep. Maybe that had woken her up.  

She tried to ignore the feeling of movement, but it wasn’t getting any better, and worse than that, her mana tingled all through her arms and hands. “Shit,” she muttered. She tried to climb gracefully out of her hammock, but the ship crested a huge swell and plummeted back down and she fell out onto the floor of the hold.

Maranda stumbled toward the staircase that led to the deck. “I wouldn’t go up there if I were you,” the Iron Bull told her. He looked at ease in his own hammock as the ship bobbed in the water.The ties of his hammock creaked with each swaying motion under his bulky weight. “Storms like these, it’s best to let the crew do their thing. We’ll only get in the way.”

By now the other passengers in the hold started waking up. Someone lit one of the lamps and held it aloft. The light flickered and cast strange shadows as they pitched back and forth. “Remember that time we were headed out of Denerim and that hurricane struck?” Krem asked. He kept his eyes closed and his hands folded over his chest as he swung back and forth. “Thought we were done for there, Chief.”

Bull snorted. “Takes more than a hurricane to put a Charger down.”

Talk turned to jokes in attempts to lighten the mood as the ship rolled back and forth, up and down, on the waves. Maranda had heard the templars who’d been at sea, bringing in mages who’d transferred from Ferelden or Hercinia; or bringing captured apostates back to the nearest Circle. They spoke of storms that could reduce ships to splinters, if the sea didn’t claim them first. One man had seen a ship catch fire after the main mast was struck by lightning; the sea claimed ship, cargo, and crew.

Maranda headed up the stairway and pushed open the hatch. She breathed more easily in the cold, fresh air, though the lashing sheets of rain and violent sprays of the sea soaked her straight away. The wind howled around her. She squinted at the darkness, blinking away the stinging salt. Lightning illuminated the hulking banks of cloud and arced between the billowing peaks.

“Get below!” A crewman shouted just as a wave broke over the deck, knocking Maranda down.  

“Close the fucking hatch!” Bull yelled from below.  

She hauled herself up using a winch and clung to a rope against a mast. “I’ll stay out of your way.  I’ll stay right here,” she promised, squinting and realizing she was holding to the main mast. “But this storm--”

The sky exploded in a white-purple flash and thunder split the air. Maranda held the mast and felt the electricity jolt down and through it. She pressed her hands to it. Her mana surged and she took a deep breath. She’d spent years at the Ostwick Circle watching storms out the window, wishing she could go outside, or at least open a window. As a child one of her uncles usually stayed with her, gently neutralizing the mana surges that flowed from her.

On the open ocean there was nothing and no one to stop this, and she let the electricity flow down the mast and into her hands before holding one hand out toward the water. Lightning arced out of her fingertips and across the water. The crewman who’d told her to go below decks just stared, then went back to pulling the rigging.

Like all storms, this one passed. The rain still fell, but in a gentle misting sprinkle that washed away the salt and sweat. The sea still swelled, but the violence had subsided. “So that’s what you do?” Theo appeared next to her. He held tight to the rigging. His dark hair stuck to his forehead and he tried to push it away with his left arm. “That was… dangerous.” 

If she’d had any mana left, it would have sparked with her anger, but the storm had taken nearly everything out of her. She pried her hands off of the mast and nearly fell over. Theo released his hold on the rigging and held out his hand. Maranda took it and followed him back below decks, where, thankfully, no one said anything. Theo found a towel, and she found dry clothes, and dried off behind a pile of cargo. She was too tired to argue with him right now, but he didn’t press anything; just handed her a rough blanket as she climbed up into her hammock and fell into a deep sleep.

Hours later the ship rocked gently on a calm sea. Maranda stretched out, still tired, but not as spent as she’d been. She was glad she’d taken the time to change out of her sodden clothing, but her hair was sticky from the salt.  She tied it back the best she could. She took a drink from the freshwater bucket and headed up to the main deck.

No one stopped to stare at her; no one pointed or said anything.  Varric and some of the crew were played dice. Aft, Theo worked with Sera to string a bow, while Dagna fiddled with her runecrafting kit. For her part, Dagna looked pale and drawn, and she paused to nibble on something.  Ginger root, Maranda recognized, as she drew closer.  

As Theo and Sera concentrated--more like Theo concentrated, and Sera slapped the back of his head when he started to complain--Maranda sat down next to Dagna. Cardenio perched on the railing as easily as he might a chair, unconcerned about the Waking Sea a dozen feet below him on one side. “What sorts of runes are you working on?” 

Dagna looked up with a start. “Oh!  Sorry, I didn’t see you.” The dwarf set down the tool she was working with and carefully capped a vial of lyrium next to her. “Some storm last night, right?” Dagna asked. She chewed her ginger and tapped her chin, watching Maranda thoughtfully. “Just how intense  _ is _ your storm magic?” 

“I can’t summon a storm or control the weather. It’s possible if I’d been trained for that but…”

“The Circles aren’t really keen on that sort of thing,” Dagna said with a nod.

“Did you… study at a Circle?” Maranda asked, furrowing her brow.

Dagna laughed. “I know, no one expects a dwarf. Magic always fascinated me. I grew up in Orzammar and had never been above ground, but my mother worked at the tavern. I helped sometimes, and heard the topsiders talk about the mages and magic. And of course there’s always lyrium coming out of the mines and I just  _ knew _ it could do amazing things. I just felt it, you know?” She grinned and stretched out her hands; her knuckles cracked.

“Sort of like how the Tranquil can do runes and enchanting even without their magic,” Maranda said. She didn’t know many Tranquil; her Circle had a few, but they’d been transferred from other Circles in the Free Marches to do enchanting and runecrafting.

“I’d like to think I’m a bit more interesting than a Tranquil,” Dagna said, “though I did train with some.”

“How’d you end up on the surface?” Maranda winced in sympathy as Theo snapped the bowstring and it sliced across his forearm. He swore and Sera shook her head.

“The Warden.” Dagna chuckled. “She convinced my father to let me leave. Of course, I’m not really welcome in Orzammar ever again, and the thought of the Surface terrifies them.” She frowned for a moment, but then her face relaxed into its pleasant expression. “We write at least. I think they understand I wouldn’t have been happy if I’d stayed there.”

“Why did you want to know about my storm magic?”

“Oh, that, right. Well, once we get to the Storm Coast some of our happy party are going down there. And a lot of what lives down there tends to be sensitive to storm magic, since lightning is a sky thing, so I thought I’d see if you were able to help with the lightning runes I’m trying to get into the weapons. Especially after last night.”

So that’s why Theo had been asking about her combat potential. For all he accused people of having their agendas, he had one of his own. She supposed she should be angry with him. But he swore again and aimed a kick at his bow; Sera pulled it out of his way, swearing in turn. Theo lost his balance, but managed to keep his footing, and Cardenio chuckled. Maranda decided he was dealing with enough punishment.  

“Can I see your runes?” She asked. “I’ll do what I can.” She and Dagna worked on the runes and enchantments for most of the day. A cooler breeze blew through, and for a moment Maranda feared another storm, but the skies remained clear. By the end of the afternoon Theo was able to string his bow, though it took time; he wouldn’t be fixing a snapped string in the middle of a fight, but he looked pleased with himself nonetheless. Dagna helped him fit a false arm to his stump. He held the hand to his bow, and the runes connected.  The fingers closed around the grip, and bow crackled with electrical energy.  

“The fit isn’t terrible,” Dagna mused. “I’d really love if we could do a casting of it someday, but for now, with a little padding you should be good for a couple hours at a time.”

“It’s more than I ever thought I’d have.” He fumbled with the straps that held it in place.  

“I can work on runing your knives next.” Dagna packed up her tools. “If we have another calm day like this before we get to the Storm Coast I can probably have it done before we drop anchor.”

“That’s my Widdle,” Sera said with a grin, sitting down next to Dagna and wrapping her in a huge hug. She planted a kiss on Dagna’s cheek. “I’m in love with a genius.  And not a poncey one, neither.  Can you make  _ my _ bow all magical and shite?”

Dagna returned the smile. “Dare me  _ not  _ to.”

The captain assured them that, if the winds held and the sea remained calm, they could make Daerwin’s Mouth by this time the next day. The setting sun streaked the sky with gold and red: all good signs. “By the by, lass,” he said as Maranda passed, on her way below decks, “I don’t know what you did but you saved the ship last night.”

“Just followed my instincts,” she said, nodding her thanks. But when she passed the main mast, the wood was streaked with dark lines in the shape of lightning bolts. She swallowed. Maybe, just maybe she would be more useful in the Deep Roads than she thought.


	11. Calculations

Part II: Descent

#  Chapter 11: Calculations

The etched glass door of the Aureos Distillery was locked, which Dorian found odd.  He peered in and saw no sign of movement.  On either side of the Aureos shop other establishments had already opened for the day’s business.  He tried the handle once more, but it was firmly locked with a strange magic underlying it.  Dorian frowned a bit in spite of himself.  He knew countless variations on locking cantrips and closing wards, and this didn’t have any of those.  Nor did the door have a keyhole.

What did the family do before Lucrezia came along?

He shifted his messenger bag, filled with notes he’d taken for the legislation he was drafting up, on his shoulder.  Maevaris had nonchalantly suggested he work with Lucrezia on the bill they were trying to bring to the floor.  Now that Dorian was officially a Magister, there was the possibility that his status as an Altus could get their proposal heard. 

He’d agreed to meet Lucrezia at her family’s shop, and then they were to grab a quick lunch and spend the afternoon researching any past precedents they could incorporate, and if time allowed, drafting up the proposal.  He had a dinner party later that night: a formal affair at the Minrathous manor of one Tanicus Thrasea.

Dorian would rather spend the evening researching and writing.

The door of the distillery was clearly not going to open, so he made his way to a cafe nearby and settled down at one of the outdoor dining tables.  He pulled out a tome that he’d been working out of while he sipped at a blend of chilled citrus juice and spiced tea.  

“My apologies, Dorian.” Lucrezia slipped into the seat across from him nearly a half hour later.  “Family things.  But here are the notes I was working with the last time we tried to bring this up.”

“No bother, would you like me to order you…Maker’s breath.”  Lucrezia stared down at her own sheaf of papers, but her eyes were red and puffy and dried tear tracks streaked her face.  He waved over a server to pour her some ice water. “Lucrezia, what happened?  Did someone die?”  His mind spun with the possibilities.  Surely Lucrezia wasn’t so much of a threat that people would be coming after her or her family?

“Hector enlisted.  He said he didn’t have a choice, and is leaving tomorrow.”  She sipped some water and dabbed her eyes with a crumpled blue handkerchief.  “But he  _ did _ have a choice.  It’s that stupid pride getting in the way.”

“That’s the Tevinter mindset in a nutshell, I’m afraid,” Dorian told her.  “How much could we accomplish if everyone… no, that will never happen.  If a majority percentage of people set their pride aside?  We certainly wouldn’t still be embroiled in this stupid Seheron conflict ages later.” Lucrezia stared at her glass and the water froze. She took it in her hand and the ice melted.  “All the more reason for us to get this into something workable that can make it further than a mere mention in the minutes this time.”

Lucrezia dabbed her eyes once more, sipped her water, and sat up straighter.  She showed him the sheaf of notes she had, and the places she’d found weaknesses in her rhetoric.  They ate a quick lunch and saved the bulk of discussion for the quiet alcove of the library they chose to work in.

Dorian wove a privacy web around them.  They could hear people coming and going and heard the conversations occurring outside of his web; but to anyone passing by they’d appear to be studying quietly.  A powerful mage might be able to see through the ruse more easily, but Dorian hoped that they’d notice the intrusion before it became anything of concern.  At last he sat down in a worn and comfortable chair and relaxed.  “I always feel this strange sense of relief when I make it here without being accosted in some way,” he said.

She managed a smile.  “And here I thought I was the only one.”

“ _ Has  _ anyone made an attempt on you?”  He blinked, surprised.

“You may be an Altus, but you’re not the only one who has to contend with death threats.”  She looked up from organizing her notes.  “If anything, I’ve had to deal with it a bit more.  There are very few Laetan-born mages serving the Magisterium, and fewer still who are first-generation.”

“Taking up with Maevaris’s cause isn’t exactly a way to become more likeable.”

“No.  But it’s a way to start getting things done around here.”

They weren’t going to pass the bill before Lucrezia’s brother had to leave.  But if buckling down and drafting up the best, most watertight bill they could meant a change that brought him home sooner, Dorian was willing to do what he could.  He was an only child; many Altus children were.  He could only assume generations of selective breeding between families had distilled the lines down.  But Lucrezia had her older brother, who had gracefully stepped aside to let his younger, magically gifted sister take on the favored place in the family.  Dorian respected that.

He gathered a pile of books and started combing through.  Lucrezia did likewise.  They worked quietly, occasionally looking up to note something.  Lucrezia asked him several questions about the old Altus houses and what he knew about Laetan social structures.  “Precious little,” he said at last.  “I agree wholeheartedly with what the Lucerni--what  _ we-- _ want to accomplish with this particular vote.”  He tapped the quill pen against his chin.  “The key won’t be convincing them that Laetans have the right to training.  It will be paying for that training.  It always comes down to money, in the end.”

“And no one wants to part with that.”

“Do you?” he asked, leveling his gaze at her.  Lucrezia narrowed her eyes.  “You are a talented mage and a shrewd, blossoming politician,” Dorian told her.  “But it was your family’s wealth that allowed you a level of training and patronage that helped you reach your potential.  It’s their wealth that keeps you where you are.   _ Venhedis, _ it’s  _ my _ family’s wealth that keeps me where I am. If I had run away and joined the Inquisition as a non-Altus, I highly doubt I’d have ended up welcome back here.”

She slid a piece of parchment over to him.  “I calculated the average cost of a Laetan education at the Minrathous Circle.  This is what I came up with.”

“Times how many first-generation Laetans each year?”

“We could still fund Seheron  _ and _ Leatan education if we just pulled back this much from the defense fund each year.  We don’t even have to touch the fund as it is, just not impose any tax hikes on it, or let the fund stay as it is, and divert current tax money from defense to this bill.”  Her eyes shone bright with anticipation.

Dorian stared at her numbers.  On paper, the idea was lovely.  On paper, it worked.  He smiled.  “I see what you mean. Now we just have to convince a cadre of pompous old fools that they are quite safe enough without funneling more money into the army.”

She leaned back.  “I don’t see how it doesn’t make sense to keep denying proper training for Laetan mages.  This is the Tevinter Imperium.  We’re known as the land of mages, and instead of capitalizing on that and what it could do?  How it could make us great again?  They’re all living in the past.”

Dorian handed her paper back to her.  “Which is why we need to make such a compelling argument regarding the future.”  Lucrezia sighed and finally nodded before going back to her own research.  Dorian’s thumb brushed over his simple gold band and a pang jabbed into his chest.  Aside from the fact that Lucrezia was a mage, and of course, a woman, she reminded him so very much of Theo in her youthful optimism and need to barrel headlong into things regardless of the stacked odds.

Dorian missed him.  He needed Theo.  He needed someone he could trust, someone who placed no expectations on him.  Someone he could come home to, who would listen to him but not turn his words against him.  Dorian trusted Maevaris, but she was a consummate politician, and he’d only been home for a few months now.  Perhaps he would contact Theo after Tanicus Thrasea’s party tonight.  He hoped they’d made the Storm Coast by this point; just  _ hearing  _ the creaking ship and seaspray made Dorian nearly seasick.

A couple of hours passed, in that pleasant way that time did when Dorian engaged in study.  He’d spend days in the library of Vyrantium when he was younger, and he’d lost entire nights in the Skyhold library.  Books didn’t expect anything from him: probably why he enjoyed the company of texts so much.  He stood and stretched.  “Much as I would prefer to spend the evening here, I fear I must be off.  Other duties call.”  He grimaced.

Lucrezia shook her head.  “If you even knew just what some Magisters are willing to do to get invited to one of Tanicus’s parties… You live in a strange, strange world, Dorian.”  She was smiling, but he detected the envy in her voice.

He shuffled his papers into his bag.  “I happen to  _ like _ my own little world.  Everyone knows me there.”

“You’re insufferable,” Lucrezia pointed out, gathering her own materials.  Spirits closed their books for them and large tomes floated out of the alcove.  Spirits of learning and knowledge were ideal library assistants.  Dorian nodded to them in passing, conveying his thanks.  The beauty of library spirits was that they could sense patrons’ intents, and respected their study spaces.  Back in Skyhold he’d had some strong conversations with the overeager library and research assistants: strong words voiced in a tone that would be, as Lucrezia put it, insufferable.

He walked Lucrezia back to her shop.  “I did nearly best you in a duel,” she reminded him.  “I believe I’d be able to handle myself were someone to be stupid enough to attack me--especially in broad daylight.”

“Propriety, my Lady Magister.”  Dorian smiled and put his hand behind his back, then bowed at the waist.  Lucrezia rolled her eyes as she stifled a giggle.  All in all she looked much better than she had a few hours ago.  “In all seriousness, Lucrezia, take care of yourself and your family.  Give my best to your brother?” He’d met Hector a few times, a handsome young man around Theo’s age with dark curls and the same sparkling light brown eyes as Lucrezia.  Hector was a businessman, not a soldier, and Dorian had to wonder just what finally drove him to think that his only option was enlisting.

He bid Lucrezia farewell and headed home to ready himself for another insufferable party.  He was growing quite fond of that word.

* * *

  
  


“Magister Dorian of House Pavus,” the servant announced in a clear voice that rang through the din of the other guests, as Dorian arrived at the Minrathous estate of Tanicus Thrassea.  Tanicus had a reputation for collecting followers like some old Orlesians collected butterflies.  He hosted elegant parties, to which he only invited select individuals.  Maevaris, who had never procured an invitation, seemed to think Tanicus only wanted to learn more about the Lucerni and their movements.  “He knows why you’d join us,” she told Dorian.  “But perhaps he just wants to find out more.”

“You forgot one more thing,” Dorian said, and Mae quirked her head to the side.  “I’m Dorian Pavus.”  

He entered the grand foyer, surprised to see fewer guests than he’d expected.  Either other guests were trying to upstage his fashionable tardiness; or there weren’t as many interesting people in Minrathous that attracted Tanicus’s attentions.  He grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing servant, but did not drink.  Until he knew what Tanicus wanted, he didn’t trust anything.  He also had an unpleasant history with unvetted drinks.

“Prodigal Pavus!  I wondered when Tanicus would finally get you over for a soiree.” Magister Savos Enchinus appeared at Dorian’s side.  He sipped his own wine, his icy gaze surveying the small crowd.  Unlike the typical parties Dorian had been to, people huddled in pairs or trios making small conversation.  

“Savos.  I’m not surprised to see you here.” 

“Tell me, did you and your darling husband like the crystals?”

“I’d prefer not to kiss and tell, if it’s all the same to you,” Dorian told him, keeping his tone even.  “Tell me, what rare and wonderful artifact did you procure for our host, to curry his favor?”

Savos chuckled.  “You wound me, Pavus.  Is it too much to think that I’m just here for my effervescent personality?”

“Frankly, yes.” 

Savos laughed softly and flitted away. Dorian knew he should mingle, but where to begin?  This wasn’t the usual vapid party.  He meandered through the cliques, listening as he went, but very few people talked Magisterium business.  Most parties, people lobbied on the dance floor or over the table of canapes.  

“Dorian Pavus, you made it!”  Tanicus Thrassea wove past a pair of Magisters Dorian recognized as having once spoken out against the Venatori.  Curious.  “I confess, I didn’t think you’d come.”  Tanicus was tall and soft-spoken, with olive skin and dark eyes.  He wore his dark hair down to his shoulders, with the sides pulled back, accentuating his high, angled cheekbones.  Dorian wondered absently if he had any relation to the Pentaghasts.  

“Decline an infamous Tanicus Thrassea invitation?  I’m reckless, but I’m not stupid.” Dorian smiled.  He switched his wine glass to his left hand and held out his right.  “Pleasure.”

Tanicus took his hand and shook.  “It’s all mine.”  He ushered Dorian over to a pair of leather chairs on either side of a polished coffee table.  “So the Inquisition is over, then.”

“It served its purpose,” Dorian agreed.  Maybe he did need the wine after all.

“I was sorry to hear about Halward’s untimely death,” Tanicus said, and Dorian started drinking.  “He was a fine Magister.”

“Thank you.” Dorian added in a humble nod of thanks.  

“Had Halward not met his demise, would you have remained in the south indefinitely?”  Tanicus’s tone was soft and concerned, but Dorian detected no mind magic behind it.

“Since Halward  _ did  _ meet his demise, I can safely say that the answer to that is neither here nor there.”  Dorian set down his glass.  It was a good red, smooth and full and just fruity enough.  

“Of course.  I didn’t mean any offense or rudeness.”  Dorian had to wonder just what anyone saw in Tanicus and his fancy parties.  It wasn’t very fancy, and barely met the definition of a party as of yet.  He’d broken out his best robes for nothing.  The deep blue-green silk was wasted on this party.  “Please.  I’d like to show you the rest of the place, if you’d like?”

Dorian managed not to sigh and got up to follow Tanicus.  During hearings, Tanicus rarely took the floor and often sat, watching with his brow furrowed.  How Dorian wished he had Felix here now; Felix would have joined the Lucerni with him.  He would have been able to tell Dorian what Tanicus had done during the hearings regarding the Venatori after Corypheus’s defeat.  If Theo had been in Tevinter with him, maybe he’d have scored an invitation as well: the curious Southerner, the Former Inquisitor, who’d shaped the south and put down Corypheus.

Tanicus showed Dorian out of the main sitting room, and the more they toured the house Dorian realized that the party seemed poorly attended because only a few of the attendees remained in the front room.  More strolled about on the terrace outside the conservatory; some sat in deep conversation in the lovely library; and some lounged in a darkened room, reclining on velvet-covered chaises.  A carved pedestal held a glowing bowl of liquid lyrium.  Dorian remembered Alexius’s Fade lounge and its stone floors too often stained with blood.  

Tanicus dipped his fingers into the bowl.  “Fancy a jaunt in the Fade?” he asked with a bright smile.

“Thank you, but I’ll pass.”

“Pity.  I would have loved to see what a Necromancer does in the Fade.  Another time?” He wiped the lyrium off of his fingertips with a silk cloth.

“Perhaps,” Dorian conceded.  Just being around so much purified lyrium, so unexpectedly, left him feeling heady.  He felt like he could reach through the wall between this world and the Fade, and he felt his spirit attendants at the edges of his consciousness.  He blinked and shook his head.  “Pardon me.” He dipped his head apologetically, but he had to get out of there.

Tanicus waved him off. Dorian retraced his steps until he found the conservatory, and went out onto the terrace.  A few more conservative Magisters discussed Seheron in low voices, but quickly changed topics when Dorian arrived.  He sat down next to a small fountain and focused on the bubbling, gurgling water.  The breeze felt pleasant blowing through the warm night, and eventually the line between the waking world and the Fade became more established again.  His time in the south had left him soft, it would seem.  Come to think of it, he hadn’t intentionally ventured into the Fade that way in quite some time.  Perhaps he was due for it, but it wouldn’t be in the Fade lounge of a stranger.

When they all eventually sat down to dinner, Dorian was unsurprised by the exotic fare that had been prepared.  He found it flavorful enough, but much like all of Tanicus’s event, it was for show.  At least he could tell Lucrezia honestly that she didn’t miss out on anything.  Any normal party would be followed with plenty to gossip about during and after.  If anything, Dorian found this evening dull.

He stayed for another hour after dinner and took a brady with Tullus and his wife Vassenia: two enchanters from Carastes, researching red lyrium and its potential uses in the Imperium.  “You were in the thick of it, Pavus,” Vassenia said, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners.  “I don’t expect you saved any of the stuff?”

“If you want my advice, which I doubt you do, but will give anyway, it’s best for you to steer clear of the stuff.” Dorian swirled his brandy in his glass.  He sipped the rest of it more quickly than was prudent.  He excused himself and ducked out of the foyer, and managed to make it outside without being accosted by Tanicus himself, or anyone else.  There were definitely benefits to being merely tolerated among the Tevinter elite.

He knew better than to try walking home after the brandy, and he still felt overly magically alert from the lyrium.  Several carriages lined the driveway, so he gave his address and climbed into one.  

“I wish you had been there,” he told Theo through the sending crystal later. He lay in bed and had made sure to lock and ward his doors and windows.  

Theo laughed on the other end.  “Please.  I’d never fit in.”

“Neither do I, love.  We could have been outcasts together.”  He rolled over.  “Have you arrived on dry land yet?”

“Land, but not dry.  It’s the Storm Coast, remember?  We’re camping out in a cave called Daerwin’s Mouth.  Used to be a red templar supplying post before Cullen’s people gutted it a few years back.  We move inland tomorrow, and then… underground, I suppose.  Do you think the crystals will work through the Deep Roads?”

“I can only hope so.”  Dorian didn’t like thinking about the alternative.  “And if not, you simply have to promise not to die.”

It sounded so easy when they said things like this, and yet, knowing Theo was a thousand miles away, about to delve down into the depths where few besides Grey Wardens and Legion of the Dead ever roamed, terrified him.  It wasn’t the thought of tons of rock pressing down, or even the lurking darkspawn.  

When Wardens or Legion of the Dead went down there, they didn’t mean to return.


	12. The Long March

#  Chapter 12: The Long March

The ground moved in angry undulating waves of groaning, cracking rock, rumbling all around them.  Theo rolled over on his stomach and covered his head with his arm.  Tiny stones clattered around him and pelted him on the back.  He rarely missed the green and glowing parasite that had marked his left hand, but one of its more useful tricks had been a force field of green light that protected him and anyone within it.  

The ground shuddered one last time and then the faint tremors eventually faded.  Theo sat up, wincing with the new bruises he was going to have.  The others in their small camp relaxed as well; Krem and Bull lowered their shields.  Dagna released Sera, and Varric glanced up at the ceiling with a wary eye.  Fianna rested her hand on the ground.  “It’s getting worse,” she said.  “How soon can we be ready?”  She shoved things into her pack and rolled up her bedding.

“Worse?” Cardenio asked as he changed his shirt.  He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair and frowned, then began buckling on his daggers.

“Whatever the Vints are doing is causing earthquakes,” Bull explained.  “It was bad when we were here last month, but it’s getting worse.”

Fianna touched the pendant at her throat.  “They’re hungry,” she murmured, eyes glassy and vacant for a moment before she shook her head.  “The earthquakes opened up a fissure in the hills just south of our current position.  Cracked open part of the Deep Roads, and we got word that the darkspawn warrens are collapsing.”

“So another Blight?” Maranda asked, pale in the dawn light pouring through the mouth of the cave. 

“No, we need an archdemon for that, and I hope to the Maker we don’t find one while we’re down there,” Fianna stretched out her left arm and rubbed her shoulder, wincing in pain the whole time.  “I’m not up for killing one of those again.”

_ As if she went around killing archdemons in her spare time, _ Theo thought.  He stared at the pile of armor pieces on the ground around him and realized he hadn’t worn armor in months: not since the day he’d confronted Solas in the world beyond the Eluvians.  He hadn’t even given much of a thought to what had happened to it, and come to think of it, hadn’t packed it for the trip from Ostwick to Kirkwall.

“Chief took care of it,” Krem said in passing.

“He should have sold it to a museum,” Theo muttered.  “I don’t suppose… You wouldn’t mind… Maker’s balls I hate this,” he said, shaking his head.

“You need help?” Krem asked.  “No shame in asking.” Krem knelt down to help Theo with his armor pieces.  He grunted as he tugged the straps and worked the buckles.  Theo managed to pull his glove on with his teeth, and started in on the buckles up his boots.  “You should probably just sleep in your armor, at this rate,” Krem said as he rolled up Theo’s left shirtsleeve.

“We all may have to,” Fianna said.  She’d donned nondescript, lightweight leather armor under a faded green velvet cloak.  Her daggers were holstered at her sides, and she’d pulled her auburn hair back in a loose braid over her shoulder.  She didn’t look like a Warden.  She didn’t even look royal.  

Krem left and Theo focused on his boots.  The buckles made it easier to get them on than laces would have; but he wasn’t going to be getting them on in a hurry.  Yet again he wondered why he’d agreed to this.  He glanced up; Fianna had sat down near him, her armor so broken in that it was soft and did not creak.

“Thanks for what you did for the Wardens all those years back.” Her hazel eyes met his gaze.  “It wasn’t an easy choice, so thank you.”

“Saving the world isn’t exactly filled with simple choices, is it.”  Theo fastened the final buckle.

She shook her head, her fingers running over the dark pendant.  “No.  As long as you can live with them, though, that’s what matters.  Right?”

Leaving the templars and Seekers to be caught by the siren song of red lyrium, while he recruited the mages, because Redcliffe was closer; leaving Stroud in the Fade at Adamant; executing Erimond; letting Morrigan drink from the Well of Sorrows… freeing Ataashi the dragon and chasing down Solas on his own… disbanding the Inquisition and telling Dorian goodbye.  The last was the only choice he hadn’t been able to live with, and if it killed him he would make it right again.  He rested his fingertips on his own pendant.  “ _ Na via lerno victoria,” _ he murmured.  Dorian told him that once, before some damned adventure that was likely to kill them, but miraculously, did not.

“Your Tevene still sucks,” Bull said as he walked by.  “Dagna’s ready for you.” He offered a huge hand to help him up.  Fianna chuckled and got to her feet, heading over to talk with Cardenio.  

Dagna and Sera were arguing in low voices when Theo and Bull approached.  “If it’s down to me and you, it’s me that’s going.”  A stormy expression darkened Sera’s face.  Her bowstring twanged as she plucked it nervously.  “Lefty here’s an okay shot, but I bet I can see a nug’s arse in the dark better than he can in the light.”

Theo raised an eyebrow.  “Lefty?  Isn’t that a little ironic?”

“Leave it to you to piss about irony,” Sera snapped.  “Don’t see why we ended up getting dragged into this.  You hated that Orzawhatsit place and now you’re all geared up to go back underground?” she asked, wheeling back around to Dagna.

Dagna hardly batted an eye.  “I just want to see what’s down there.  It’s a scouting expedition, not a fighting one.”  She grabbed Sera’s hand and squeezed.  “The only Stone Sense I have left is what sort of stones are best for runecrafting. We can fight about it later, I promise,” she added, when Sera still stood there pouting and glowering at her from under her hacked off bangs.

“Anything happens to her, Lefty, and it’s you.” Sera jabbed a finger at Theo’s breastplate before stalking off.

“I didn’t even organize this trip,” he called after her, then sighed and turned back to Dagna.  “What’s one more person hating me, right?” He held out his left arm.

“She doesn’t hate you.  No more than she hates anyone else, that is, and she really only hates snotty noble types who look down on us poor peasants.”  Dagna held the prosthetic arm in place.  “You strap it on,” she ordered, and Theo got to work on yet more buckles and straps.  He felt like he was being held together with leather.  “How does that feel?”

“Fine for now.”  It hung at his side, and Dagna rolled his sleeve down over the exposed metal skeleton.  “Don’t tell me I’ll have to take this off.”  He shrugged into his worn leather coat.

“You should, otherwise it’ll chafe even with the cover.  You may not even feel it, depending on how badly those burns damaged your arm,” she mused.  “Puts you at a risk of infection.  Wouldn’t that be something?  Defeat Corypheus and his minions, kill dragons, stop a Qunari invasion… die of infection from a fake arm.”

“I do have lousy luck.”

Once everyone had gathered their gear, and once weapons were checked and ready, Fianna led the way out of Daerwin’s Mouth.  The tang of red lyrium still hung in the air years later, bringing back memories of deformed creatures who had once been men and women.  They’d sworn themselves to a cause greater than themselves, and had given into desperation.  Theo wondered how things would have been different if he’d gone to Therinfal Redoubt instead of Redcliffe all those years ago.  Would he have even met Dorian?  Or would Dorian have fallen to the Venatori?

The twisting paths of the seaside cave eventually opened onto the shore.  Theo squinted in the sudden brightness and inhaled deeply: saltwater and spindleweed.  More old memories that he would rather not relive.  He glanced over at Bull and Krem and the rest of the Chargers, who discussed who would go into the Deep Roads with Fianna and Bull.  The hill on which they’d made their stand against the Venatori was much farther north; they wouldn’t pass it, which made Theo relieved.  He could live with his decision to let Bull save the Chargers, but it wasn’t an easy memory to relive.

They walked in silence under the overcast sky, moving south and east, and eventually turning to move inland.  He glanced back toward Maranda, who took the trail slowly.  Theo paused and let Skinner and Grim pass by.  “Alright?” he asked his sister.

She took a sip of water from her skin.  “Fitness wasn’t exactly a priority in the Circle.” She stared ahead, up the roughly hewn stone stairway carved into the hillside and her face fell.

“We’ll take it slow,” he told her.  “When everything first happened, I was hiking all over the Hinterlands and the Frostbacks.  It took some getting used to.”  This turned out to be slow going for Theo as well; the steep climb required balance that he didn’t realize he’d lost since his arm was gone.  He tripped on a rock lodged in the ground between steps and reached out to catch himself.  His left arm swung forward and clanged against the rock.  “ _ Shit,” _ he muttered, regaining his footing and pausing to examine the false limb.

Dagna stumbled down the stairs to his side straight away-- she moved fast for a dwarf.  “It’s volcanic aurum, so it should hold up to most abuse,” she told him, pushing back his sleeve and inspecting it.  “I knew you’d need something that could stand up to being knocked around.” She replaced his sleeve.  “It doesn’t look bent, or anything.  Are  _ you _ okay?”

“Nothing hurt but my pride.” He straightened up and started back up the stone staircase.  

From up here he could look back down and see the shoreline below, waves crashing against the rocks as the rains moved in sheets further out to sea.  “It is pretty,” Maranda said as she approached his side.  “It looks so endless, but to think, if you kept going just long enough you’d end up back in the Free Marches.”

The party paused to have a midday meal at the top of the rise under a grove of white-barked trees with copper leaves.  The rain had abated, though the clouds remained.  No further tremors shook them.  All in all, the early afternoon was almost pleasant.

A slight way ahead Dalish, the Chargers’ hedgemage (who insisted she was truly an archer with a very unique bow) gave a low whistle.  Everyone snapped to attention and drew weapons.  Maranda conjured a ball of lightning in her palm.  Cardenio disappeared in the rocks and brush off the path.  Theo reached behind him and got hold of his bow.  He positioned the grip by his left ‘hand’ and the contact runes buzzed slightly before activating.  His bow snapped into his metallic palm and the fingers curled around it.  He nocked an arrow.

“Stand down!” Fianna called after a moment.  She sounded annoyed.  She shoved her way through some overgrown brush.  “Dammit, Alistair!  You’re going to get killed sneaking around like that!” she snapped.  She grabbed his arm and dragged King Alistair of Ferelden out of the brush and onto the path.  “The rest of you can stand down, too, by order of the Queen, who is royally pissed off!”  Several Fereldan soldiers joined the king and sheathed their weapons, looking embarrassed.

“Ever a way with words, love.”  King Alistair sheathed his own sword.  He wrapped his arms around his wife and lifted her off the ground in a hug.  He spun around once, and her green cloak fluttered out behind her.  She buried her face in his shoulder and clutched at his golden brown cape. “You should have known not to sneak off.  She likes to sneak off,” he added, looking over Fianna’s shoulder to Theo and the others.  “Especially this time.”

“We’re on a schedule.” Her voice cracked.  “You can come as far as the fissure.”

“She knows better than to get me in an argument in public,” Alistair explained as he joined their motley ranks.  They packed up and set out once more.  “Varric, good to see you,” Alistair said, dropping back to speak with the dwarf.  “It wouldn’t be a proper meeting if we weren’t marching toward our demise.”

“You got that right.”  Varric shook his hand.  “King Alistair, I don’t think you’ve met Inquisitor Trevelyan?”

“ _ Former _ Inquisitor Trevelyan.  Just Theo these days.” He paused to bow.  

“I heard about the way everything ended, and I  _ am _ sorry.”  The king’s golden brown eyes looked sad and he scratched his chin.  “I told Teagan I should go, but where Celene was sending one of her damned heralds, he said it  _ wasn’t appropriate _ .”  He rolled his eyes, and his tone suggested he was mocking Teagan.  “I know my Fereldan history so I know why he was concerned, but I never once thought you would try to invade us.”

“I appreciate that, your highness,” Theo said, and Alistair chuckled.

“Please, Alistair is fine.  Myself, Fianna, you… we’re part of a unique group and should be on a first-name basis with each other.”  He stared ahead, to where Fianna was blazing the trail with the Iron Bull.  “Saving the world took a piece of our souls.”

“The Blight must have been difficult.”

“About as much fun as your little feud with Corypheus,” Alistair agreed.  “Though, the Blight was easy in comparison to what came after.  Ruling.”

Theo nodded.  “Really… that was the hard part of the Inquisition.  Once Corypheus was gone, what purpose did we have?  It took part of me.  The part of me that knew how to see sense,” he added with a harsh laugh.

They began their descent down a steep path cut between the hillsides, sliding down toward the Long River.  A ram, startled by their appearance, skittered away.  The river bubbled over the rocks as it flowed out of a dark cave.

Fianna stopped at the mouth of the cave and stared inside.  She reached out her hand, and Alistair grabbed it.  Her other hand touched the pendant.  “Through here,” she said.  Theo heard the slightest wobble in her voice, and he only heard it because the same wobble had been in his own  voice so many times in the last few years.  The sound of trying to be strong and confident when you knew you were going to face your own death.

The attack came swiftly and Theo only saw it coming because Alistair and Fianna had their weapons drawn before the hulking darkspawn came charging out of the gloom of the cave.  His hand locked around the grip of his bow and he nocked an arrow, only to have Cardenio knock him out of the way.  “What in the Void is that about?” Theo snapped, fumbling for his arrow as he struggled to get to his feet.

“How sure a shot are you right now?” Cardenio leveled his dark eyes at him.  “Can you make a shot at an enemy engaged in melee combat?”  He pointed.

Fianna moved swiftly through the shadows, her knives flashing in the gray afternoon.  Alistair slammed the darkspawn with his shield and it toppled back into the water.  He stabbed his sword downward into its abdomen; the monster shrieked and the river ran with blackened blood.  “Just like old times?” Alistair asked with a grin as Fianna wiped her knives off.

The darkspawn weren’t through yet.  The Iron Bull spotted a stooped-over creature loping out of the cave, pushing off with its knuckles.  The Bull rushed that one, slamming into it with his solid bulk, then swinging a maul at it.  The head went flying back into the cave and was lost in darkness, while the body toppled over.

Through it all Theo stood, bow dangling from his fake hand, while he gripped the arrow tightly with his real one and watched a fight go on without him.  Jealousy, thick and black as darkspawn blood, welled up in him as he watched Sera fire off an endless volley of arrows at the enemy.  Just a few months ago he’d been able to do that.  He’d been just as good as that, and now Cardenio held him back but no one said anything to Sera.

Finally the last darkspawn died and Fianna proclaimed it as safe as it was going to get.  They all picked up their gear and trudged into the cave.  Fianna knelt on the riverbank and washed her hands and face, then rinsed out her mouth and spat.  “You’re not going down there,” she told Alistair as he passed by.

“I’m the king.  You can’t stop me.” He grinned and trailed his hand over her shoulder.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  Theo looked away and felt again that pang of regret that he’d fucked things up with Dorian that day.  Dorian said they could recover, he said he could forgive him.  But watching Fianna and Alistair, struggling with a forced farewell, Theo still felt the pain from that day.

He took a deep breath and followed Bull, Krem, and the other Chargers into the cave.  “Can’t believe we’re going back in here,” Krem muttered as they veered off into a deep crevice in the rocky wall.

“We’re not just going in; we’re going down this time,” Bull said, and Krem swore in Tevene under his breath.  “This it, Boss?” Bull said.

Theo was about to retort when Fianna sidled to the front of the group.  She walked to the edge and stared down.  “This is it.  Hopefully our Orzammar contacts will be there by now.  I gave them good advanced warning.”  She turned to face them all.  “Right.  I’ve been down just far enough to see what damage the Vints started with the darkspawn, but beyond that, I don’t know what we’ll face.  Who’s ready?”  She stepped back and Theo’s stomach dropped when she disappeared over the ledge, into the darkness of the unknown.


	13. Descent

#  Chapter 13: Descent

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Yes, that’s true, but right now I’m hating you for that little trick you pulled up there.”  Alistair stared upward.  It grew darker the lower they descended.  Fianna laughed softly and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

The lift down into the crevice moved slowly and every time it groaned or creaked Maranda started.  Theo stood at the edge and held onto a support while he looked down into the dark.  There was nothing to do but wait and hope the ropes held.  Bull reassured him that it was a combination of dwarven and Tevinter engineering and had been built for a purpose.  It wasn’t likely to fail.

Theo knew a little about darkspawn; he’d been fifteen when the Blight happened.  He’d read and reread the Canticle of Threnodies; he’d found what he could about the Grey Wardens and had read the story of Garahel, hero of the Fourth Blight.  He didn’t think he would ever see darkspawn, and even during the Inquisition none of his missions had him facing any darkspawn--after he’d won at Adamant and recruited the Wardens they were the ones dispatched to deal with any threats.

“What are the Tevinters using these lifts for?” he asked, if only to break the tense silence.  

“Access,” Fianna said.  “Near as the Qunari and his crew could tell, they’re sending slaves down here this way.  The last time we dealt with a Tevinter slaver in Ferelden one of my friends put a dagger through his skull.  That was…”

“Almost thirteen years ago,” Alistair told her, and she nodded her thanks.  “We haven’t had a problem with slavers since then, the Venatori incident in Redcliffe a few years back notwithstanding.  It’s more than a little troubling to know that they’re here.”  He peered at Theo through the gloom.  “Your friend in Tevinter--”

“Husband, actually.”  Theo ran his thumb along the underside of his wedding ring.  He was doing this for Dorian.  

“What was he able to tell you?”

“Very little, save his closest friend and ally up there in Tevinter is scared shitless,” he confessed.  “He rather left it in my court to determine just what the extent was.”

Alistair  _ humphed _ .  “In your court… like this is a game.”

“Isn’t everything?” Fianna asked.

“He  _ is _ a Magister… that’s pretty much as political as it gets, and politics is nothing but a shite game.”  Theo touched the sending crystal under his shirt.  He didn’t truly know  _ what _ Dorian did.  They’d danced around Dorian’s station and Theo’s lack of one.  Theo found it more worrisome that Dorian didn’t caution him against moving forward.  Dorian needed to know what was going on and Theo was the only one who could reliably tell him.

The lift jolted and they reached the bottom.  Several torches, in brackets jammed into the stone, lit their way as they disembarked.  Maranda craned her neck back and stared up countless feet at the faraway light.  “What are we doing?” she murmured.  “Our parents would kill us if they knew what we’re doing.”

Theo had to smile; there was no other option. “Just lie in your letters home.  That’s what I did for about half the Inquisition.”

“What about the other half?” Cardenio asked as they struck out down a dimly lit pathway.

“Didn’t write at all.” He shrugged.  “I don’t think they would have believed anything I had to say.  Sometimes  _ I _ don’t believe it.”

“All this shit is weird?” Cardenio asked.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Theo said.  The lift creaked upward again; Bull and the Chargers would take the next trip down.  Theo’s heart beat faster as they struck off and wound down the path.  A sheer drop to the left had him feeling that he was walking through the air.  He’d been in the Deep Roads only once before, and not for very long: which was  _ just _ long enough.  Now he had a Grey Warden with him.  Wardens only went into the Deep Roads to recruit an army... or if they didn’t mean to surface again.

The sound of clanging metal echoed off the stones; a tremor shook the ground beneath and around them.  They rounded a bend in the path and crossed one more threshold into a cavernous room with carved stone walls and intricate pillars.  “Don’t stand there, do something!” bellowed a tattooed dwarf in heavy armor.

Darkspawn came crawling out of a hole in the far wall.  A few dwarves swung mauls or axes to keep the creatures at bay.  Fianna and Alistair drew their weapons and joined the fray.  Cardenio maneuvered in and out, dodging the two Wardens’ weapons and slicing and jabbing when he could.  Any creatures that broke those lines, Maranda hit with her magic.

“You two!” The dwarf shouted at Theo and Sera.  “We’re keeping them busy.  Get in there and set off the charges.”  He swung his axe and a darkspawn toppled over, half its leg gone.  “Don’t stand there gobsmacked, get in there and be useful!” He buried his blade in the darkspawn’s chest.

Theo headed off to the left, dodging in and out of hulking creatures, eyes fixed on the hole in the wall and the pile of charges that had been set to one side.  He looked to see if Sera followed, but didn’t see her.  He reached the first charge and knelt to prime it, but a set of claws swiped over his back and knocked him down.  His head bounced off the stone floor and he saw stars, but had just enough presence of mind to roll out of the way as the creature pounded downward with meaty fists.  It roared and suddenly the sound cut off as an arrow pierced it through the throat.

“Take that, shiteball.” Sera wrinkled her nose and spit on the twitching corpse.  “Right then, do your job, yeah?” she said and returned to her charges on the other side of the hole.

They set them off at the same time and both ran through the melee.  The others must have seen the looks on their faces, because they turned away from the fighting and ran for the other side of the room, taking what cover they could find.  As a last effort Maranda held her hand aloft and traced a glyph in the air.  The magical barrier came into being just as the explosives went off.

The torches flickered and dust filled the air.  The darkspawn screams faded as they were sealed beneath and behind the rubble.  The ground rumbled in response to the explosion and small stones dislodged from the ceiling.  Theo covered his head with his arm, but Maranda’s barrier held.  Sweat drizzled down her forehead and she stared up at her hand, willing her magic to stay strong.

He’d done the same thing countless times with his own magic.

The tremors subsided; the flickering light steadied.  The tattooed dwarf went back out into the chamber and dealt death blows to the remaining darkspawn.  By then the Chargers had made it down the lift shaft and into the chamber.  “All under control?” The Iron Bull asked, looking around.  “Made for a bumpy ride down,” he added with a grin.  Next to him, Krem swallowed and covered his mouth with his hand.  

“Nothing the Legion couldn’t take.”  The dwarf rested his axe against a pillar.  “Name’s Renn.  It’s an honor to finally meet you in the flesh,” he said, turning to Fianna.  “And this is Valta, from the Orzammar Shaperate.”

“What’s a Shaper doing fighting off darkspawn?” Dagna asked, eyebrow raised.

“I could ask what a dwarf is doing working with magic.” Shaper Valta emerged from a pile of gear.  She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear.  “Hello, Dagna.  I’m pleased you’re well.”

“Hello Valta.”  Dagna held out her hand and Valta shook it.  “Your family is well?”

“Last I heard,” she said.  “I’ve been traveling the Deep Roads with Renn and his branch of the Legion the last few years searching for artifacts.”

“Is that the story?” Dagna asked, and Valta reddened.

“The integrity of the Memories is more important than any politics.  Besides, the things I’ve learned down here have been invaluable.”  

With the darkspawn threat abated, they went about setting up a base camp in the main chamber.  Theo had no way of knowing how time passed.  They had no need for tents.  Something cooked on a spit over a fire, and someone had uncorked a cask of ale: the last celebration for Maker only knew how long.

Theo set up his bedroll next to Maranda and Cardenio; they had no time to relax just yet as Renn, Valta, Fianna, and Bull called everyone into the center of the room.  “We have an interesting scenario playing out beneath our feet,” Bull began.  He crossed his arms over his chest.  “Couple months back, Varric hired the Chargers because his cousin’s wife, up in Tevinter, said something strange was going on and needed looking into.  That brought us here to Ferelden.”

Fianna stepped forward.  “People from the coastal regions had been reporting earthquake activity, but we didn’t have the resources to investigate the way we wanted.  Alistair and I may be the monarchs, but the real power in Ferelden… that’s being consolidated in ways that… well, aren’t my problem anymore.  Sorry, love.” She cast a guilty glance at Alistair.  “I called in Legion of the Dead when it became clear that there were darkspawn involved.  The Fereldan Wardens headed for Weisshaupt, and whatever’s been going on up there since the death of Corypheus.  Renn and Valta?”

“I met up with Shaper Valta a few years back, and she started traveling with my regiment; when the Warden called us in here I couldn’t say no, and the more Valta heard about everything, she couldn’t refuse either.”  Renn looked to Valta.

“The dwarves don’t have gods,” she began.  “We have Paragons, and we have the Stone.  But the Stone has its stories and it speaks to us of old times.  And then…”  She licked her lips.  “There are myths of a time  _ before _ time, and before the stone, when the stone itself was alive.  I don’t think those are myths.  They’re reality.”

“Whatever the Vints are doing down here woke up the Shaper’s legend,” Bull said.  “The idea is that we find out what they’re up to; we stop them; we stop the earthquakes.”

Valta told them more about her theories over dinner, some meat Theo didn’t want to identify though Renn assured him it wasn’t darkspawn.  “Better than anything  _ we  _ ate in the Deep Roads,” Alistair said.  “Remember thaig crawler?”  He shuddered.

According to Valta, the rhythm and  _ feel _ of the quakes differed from regular geological activity.  “It’s as if it’s upset at being disturbed.” She sounded sad.  “Whatever the Tevinter miners have done has angered it.  I’d like to know what they’ve done, why it’s angry, and how we can soothe it.”

“That would gain some points with the people.” Alistair tossed a bone over his shoulder.

“What do you mean by ‘it’?” Theo asked.  “What’s ‘it’?”

“A titan.”

Renn shook his head.  “And here’s where we’ll have to agree to disagree, Valta.”  He chuckled.  “You know I’m behind you, but the titans are old myths.  I’m guessing the Vints collapsed some vital support.  It’s what’s bringing the darkspawn out, and the settling stones are causing the quakes.  I’ve seen similar things before.”  

“We head out in the morning…”  Bull scratched behind a horn.  “Well.  We’ll get some rest and then head out.”  He surveyed the group.  “We’re not all going down there.  The Warden and I have drafted up a scouting party.  Don’t take offense if you’re not part of it.  That’ll probably save your life.”  No one laughed.  “There aren’t any guarantees with this job.  We’re being paid to get the information back to our Tevinter contacts; whatever happens between now and then…”  His voice trailed off into a silence broken only by the crackling flames of their campfire.

Renn would be the forward scout, with Fianna leading through the darkspawn warrens.  She assured everyone that she felt no archdemon presence.  Theo let out a small sigh of relief. If there was no archdemon, the Tevinters weren’t working to start another Blight.  What they  _ were  _ doing was the mystery, and it was up to Bull and some of the Chargers: Rocky, Stitches, and Grim to lead that part of things.  

“Sera, you and Cardenio are our eyes,” Bull announced and Sera groaned.

“Piss.  Fuckin’ hate being down here,” she told him.  “Fucking shite, this is.”  She hugged her knees to her chest.  Dagna reached out and grabbed her hand.  

“Trevelyan--”

“Yes?” Theo and Maranda asked at the same time.

Bull smiled.  “Well, both of you then.  Theo, you’re our only link to Tevinter.  You report through that… thing of yours.  No reckless moves.  And Maranda, you’re our mage.”

“Hello!” Dalish waved her “bow”.

“The denizens of the Deep are vulnerable to lightning magic,” Valta said.  “If we’re going to take a mage, that mage must be well-versed in the magic of the sky.”

Dagna, Varric, and the rest of the Chargers would stay behind.  King Alistair would depart for the surface after they headed out-- or in, as the case seemed to be.  As for how far each of the groups would be able to make it, there was no telling.  The darkness was the only certainty.


	14. Into the Darkness

#  Chapter 14: Into the Darkness

“We always knew this was how it would end.”  Theo heard Fianna’s soft voice over the Bull’s snores.  

“Knowing it and having it happen are different things,” Alistair told her.  “I… I don’t regret a thing, you know.”

“I have some, but nothing some quiet time in the Deep Roads won’t fix,” Fianna said.  “If I survive this… I’ll wait here for you.  Right here, at this camp, and then you can join me.”

“You don’t have to be so grim and determined, you know.”

“Better than the alternative.”  Her voice broke and she sniffled.  “Rule well.  Set Teagan straight.”

“I  _ could _ just stay here with you. May actually be easier.”

“No, you can’t.  The last thing Teagan needs is more to hold against the Wardens.  Funny.  There was a time he appreciated what we did for him.”

Theo bit his lip and rolled over on the hard floor.  He’d said much the same thing to Teagan a few months back.  It all boiled down to fear.  Fear of what  _ could _ happen blinded people to fear of what  _ was happening. _

A light buzzing against his chest startled him.  He grabbed at the crystal.  “Just a minute,” he whispered to it, and navigated his way to the end of the chamber close to the cave-in site.  “Dor?”

“Turning in early, love?” The sound of Dorian’s voice sent a rush through Theo.  

“I don’t know what time it is.  I’m in the Deep Roads, so it’s at least good to know that the crystal works.”  

“Do you know how far down you plan to go?” Dorian asked him.

“Far as we need to, to find out what we’re looking for,” Theo told him.  “Dor… what  _ am _ I looking for?”

Dorian was quiet for a moment.  Theo closed his eyes and saw Dorian there.  He would be pacing right now, running a hand through his wavy dark hair, or smoothing the ends of his mustache.  “Signs,” he said at last.  “Signs of life, maybe.  People who can tell you why they’re there.”

“Wait, you don’t even know?”

“If we did, you wouldn’t be descending into the abyss and giving me periodic updates, now, would you.”  

“No need to get snarky.”

“I hate wasting a good opportunity for snark.”

Theo grinned in the dark, even as he missed Dorian so much it hurt.  “Do you know the range of these crystals?”

“I believe the magic is strong enough to go quite a distance,” Dorian finally said.

“You’ve only been in politics a short while and you already know how to speak like a politician,” Theo teased.

“Of course.  I spent three years watching you,  _ Amatus _ .”

“Then it’s a wonder you learned anything at all.”  Theo leaned his head back against the stone wall.  “Maker.  I don’t know what I’m doing with my life anymore.”

“What you do best.  Getting yourself unwittingly involved in grand schemes.”

“I wish I was there with you instead,” Theo confessed.  

Dorian sighed, but wistfully.  “If I had your shoulder to rest my head on, I wouldn’t complain.  I miss having you near, and I miss having someone I trust implicitly even more.”  Theo heard him sniff, but said nothing of it.  “Please believe me when I tell you that I appreciate your assistance more than you’ll ever know.”

“I meant it when I said I was here for you, Dor.  I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Theo promised to keep Dorian updated, and with his inability to discern night or day, Dorian promised that he would be the one to contact Theo each evening--unless in an emergency.  Theo was glad that Dorian would do that; the thought of losing all track of time, of days and nights passing into one long, gloomy, endless stretch, terrified him more than the darkness and its denizens themselves.

He woke in the… morning?  Morning, Theo decided, if only to help him keep his sanity intact.  Alistair was gone.  Renn and Valta whispered in a corner of the camp.  Dagna and Sera shared a blanket and bedroll.  Fianna had lit a torch and started packing up.  Theo rolled over and watched her for a moment.  She didn’t realize he was watching, because she pulled her shirt off.  Theo inhaled sharply.

“Didn’t realize you were awake, Inquisitor.  Otherwise I’d have found a rock to hide behind.”  Fianna stared at him through the shadows.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I didn’t think that…” He squeezed his eyes closed, but couldn’t unsee the image there. He heard some rustling, then soft footfalls and the light grew brighter.  Fianna wedged her torch into a pile of rocks next to them.  “Can I open my eyes now?”

She laughed.  “It’s fine.  None of it matters anymore.  Down here I’m just another Warden who can’t stop hearing the song.”  Theo opened his eyes.  Fianna sat next to him, wearing a loose sleeveless undershirt over her breastband.  “Did you hear me and Alistair last night?”  He nodded, trying to avoid looking at her.  “They tried to warn us about a Warden king and queen.  Did you know that?  Same way they tried to warn King Maric about matching Cailan with Anora.  But Fereldans love their romance.”

“Is that why Teagan has been so… involved?” Theo asked, for lack of a better word.

“Part of it.  I think he thought he had a good chance at making a claim for the throne at one point.  Especially since Ferelden ended up with such a fuck up queen. Really, I was just trying to avoid all of  _ this _ .”  She looked around her.  “Funny, there’s the whole weight of the world overhead, but so much of what’s under here is uncharted.  Unexplored.”  She closed her eyes.  “There are two sleeping dragons down here somewhere.  Old gods who just want to rest, but know their time will come.”

Theo knew about the seven old gods.  Fianna had killed the fifth; how long before the sixth would rise, and the seventh after that, no one could say.  “The Orlesian Wardens were trying to end the Blights by taking the fight to the old gods, rather than wait for them to rise.  What happens when the Blights end?”

“No more Grey Wardens.  Though… knowing them, they’d still try to keep the Order alive,” she added with a snicker.  “In peace vigilance and shit.  I know they wouldn’t have succeeded, because they were misguided, but I guess when you’ve devoted your life to something so weighty you can’t help but hope that just maybe there’s something better.”

“Is that from the Blight?” Theo asked, unable to ignore her left arm anymore.  Rude, maybe, but like she’d said, it didn’t really matter if she thought she was going to die down here.

Fianna’s fingers traced over the scarring.  “Alistair is pretty sure this is the reason my Calling came so soon.  Archdemon venom.  It nearly bit my arm off.”

“But you can still fight.”

Fianna looked over at his left side.  “Generally.  I prefer it when enemies stay away from my left side though.”

“Like Bull.”

“Like him.  And you, someday,” she said.  He shook his head, but she smiled.  “If I had to get my Calling now, I’m going to do something with it.  There’s something going on down here that could destroy the world as we know it---what?” 

Theo shook his head.  “Nope.  I’ve had enough of that.  I’m down here to help Dorian.  I’m done saving the world.”

“People like us are never done saving the world.” Fianna pulled her hair back away from her face.  “We can run, we can try to find a way around it, or a way out of it, but somehow we always end up pulled back into things.”

* * *

  
  


The darkspawn warrens ran under northern Ferelden and had been overrun by darkspawn ages ago.  Renn cheerfully spoke about the history of this section.  “Not so much a Thaig of its own right, but it connected some of the old ones.  Lots of old waypoints and travel stations; darkspawn decided it would make a pretty good nest.”

Fianna stopped.  Her hands twitched. “Nest.”  Renn nodded.  “Are there… have you seen any broodmothers?”

“I don’t know how deep down those are.  I heard about the one you took out in the Dead Trenches though.  How well did  _ that _ go over at the Shaperate?” he asked Valta.

“I recorded history, Renn.  The points are fixed.”  She trailed a hand along the hewn stone walls.  “For abandoned roadways there are certainly a lot of torches.”

“Magically lit.” Everyone turned to look at Maranda.  “We used to cast long-burning spells during the winters, when the nights were long,” she explained.  “This one is a bit more sophisticated and complex, but the base spell is there.”  
“Dwarves don’t use magic.”  Valta sounded offended.

“No, but Tevinters do,” Theo said.

“Vints in the warrens?” Bull asked.  “Hmph.  Looks like you’ve found the first sign.  Not sure what it means yet.”

They found no Tevinters, but the first darkspawn fight came a few hours into their downward trek.  Fianna held up her hand to stop them.  Bull and Renn hefted their axes.   _ Shrieks, _ Fianna mouthed and Renn swore quietly.  Sera spat on the floor and nocked an arrow.  She and Fianna looked at one another, then Fianna nodded.  Sera melted into the shadows.  A bowstring twanged and a scream rent the air that made Theo’s blood run cold.

Fianna lunged forward into the fight.  As the only Grey Warden, she’d made it clear that only she should engage the darkspawn at close range.  Daggers were messy, she said; ingesting tainted blood was a real occupational hazard of what they were doing, so the more they could utilize range and stealth, the better.  

For his part, Theo wanted to nock an arrow of his own, but he had to remind himself that he had a job to do on this mission, and that didn’t include fighting if he could help it.  He ducked into a corner.  He held a knife at the ready, heart pounding; while he didn’t relish the idea of potentially swallowing darkspawn blood, he liked less the thought of being ripped apart by darkspawn.  He wouldn’t rush in recklessly, but he would defend himself.

At last the screams stopped.  Theo emerged, self-conscious, but no one looked at him with disgust or contempt.  If he got through this, he was going to have to work on his insecurities.

Renn suggested they break for a rest, since for many of them, it was their first time facing darkspawn.  Maranda leaned against a wall, tendrils of hair stuck to her sweaty face.  She looked like she was about to throw up.  Theo handed his sister his waterskin.  “Here, drink,” he said, urging her to take it.  

She took a gulp.  “I start fires under cauldrons or decanters.  I use fire to heat things and cause reactions.  I don’t...  I wasn’t trained to use it this way, and when I had to, it came so naturally.”  She stared at a charred corpse nearby that no one else paid any mind to.

Theo tentatively touched her shoulder.  “You killed darkspawn and protected the people Renn and Fianna can’t,” he told her at last.  “Darkspawn aren’t human.  Don’t think about what you were trained to do.  Think about what you have to do.”

Maranda shoved her sleeves up over her elbows.  “Is that one of the speeches you used to give during the Inquisition?”

“It’s what Dorian would tell me whenever I had a hard judgment to make, or a mission that looked hopeless.”  He glanced over where Fianna was cleaning off her knives.  “Besides, we’re down in the Deep Roads.  In ruins of Maker knows where.  I think we can just dispense with training and focus on survival.”

Fianna waved to signal that they were heading back out.  She and Renn took up the lead once more, followed by Sera and Cardenio, who whispered back and forth.  Theo couldn’t tell if they wanted to be overheard or just enjoyed looking conspiratorial.  Theo and Maranda fell into line, and Bull brought up the rear with Grim, Rocky, and Stitches.

“Where do you suppose we are?” Maranda glanced around the rock-hewn chambers.  “What’s over us?”

“Rock,” Theo said flatly.  “Lots and lots of rock.  Or, I don’t rightly know.  I’m trying not to think of it too much.”

“Good strategy,” Bull interjected from the back.

They ran into other bands of darkspawn, though no full-on hordes.  They fell into a rhythm with the fighting, and by the third time they’d dispatched of a group of hurlocks, Theo was feeling quite confident of his ability to run and hide.  The fourth time he made it to a corner, only for a shriek to appear almost out of thin air beside him.  He ducked, avoiding the long, dark claws.  The shriek lunged at him and knocked him over.  Theo rolled out of the way of the downward-swiping claws.  He jumped up and swiped at the shriek with one of his knives.  It wasn’t much, but it let the darkspawn know that he meant to fight back.

Theo tried to get in and jam his knife into the thing’s torso, but those long claws kept swiping at him, and the shriek moved  _ fast _ .   _ Don’t do anything stupid, _ he kept telling himself.   _ It’s not worth it. _  He danced with the shriek, matching it step for step, stopping only when Cardenio appeared behind the beast and cut its throat with a long, serrated knife.  Black blood bubbled out and the dying screams quickly became gurgles.

“Think we’re getting closer to their main nest?” Fianna asked, dabbing the darkspawn blood off her face.

Valta shook her head.  “No.  The warrens themselves branch off in ways that I do not know.  And my stone sense does not lead me in those directions,” she added.

“Don’t take it personally, Warden.  Valta’s always going on with her stone sense, but it hasn’t steered me wrong yet.  And I’m easy to steer wrong.” Renn chuckled, with a fond look toward Valta.

“No worries.” Fianna sheathed her daggers. “If I don’t have to find a nest I’m fine with it.  I’m not sure what I’m really supposed to be doing though.  Wardens always talk about the Calling, but no one ever says what it’s like, or what you’re supposed to do when it happens.  I always appreciated that the Legion at least properly initiates its dead.”

They took a quick, quiet meal before heading deeper in and down, until they reached a wide chamber with pillars throughout the room.  Unlike other chambers they’d been in, this one opened up and ended in a stone balcony that overlooked a breathtaking endlessness.  It went forever down into darkness, but out of the darkness stone carved into the shape of massive dwarves stabbed into the… well, what would have passed for sky in the Deep Roads.  Theo looked up but couldn’t see any visible ceiling, but neither could he see sky.  He was below the ground; he was within the ground; he was nowhere and everywhere all at once.

“May a nug shit on my grave,” Renn said with a reverent bow.

“Maker’s balls,” Theo and Maranda agreed.  “What is this place?”

“I think it’s… but it can’t be, and yet it is.” Valta’s voice trembled with excitement.  “Heidrun Thaig.  I can’t believe we found it!”

“Oye, over here I can’t believe I found this,” Sera called, and Theo and Cardenio joined her.

When they got close Theo nearly vomited from the stench.  Sera wrinkled her nose and prodded one of the corpses in the pile before her with an arrow.  Human bodies--too big to be dwarves, and no tell-tale pointed ears of elves.  “Looks like the darkspawn got them,” Cardenio said, inspecting the top body.  “Either they got infected, or the darkspawn attacked.”

Theo took a cue from Sera and used one of his own arrows to poke and prod.  “This sigil…” He looked closer.  “Tevinter.”

“Can that fancy necklace of yours show your hubby hubs anything, or is it only good for talking?” Sera asked.

“Only talking.” Theo rummaged in his pack and found a small book and a piece of charcoal.  It was hard to do with one arm, since the book cover kept wanting to close, but he was able to do a rough sketch of the sigil. “When we finish here, I’m going to Tevinter and giving this all to Dorian myself,” he decided aloud.  “What do we do with these bodies?”

“The right thing,” Cardenio said.  He pulled one of the torches out of the bracket and rested it against the pile of bodies.  Bull, Maranda, and Rocky, Grim and Stitches did the same.  It took a moment before the flames caught and the bodies began to burn.  “Anyone want to say a few words?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“You’re the Chanter,” Maranda told him.

“Only when I need to be,” he said, staring into the flames.  He sighed.  “May they rest in peace, and may we get through this in better condition,” he finally said.

No one disagreed.


	15. Mother in Minrathous

#  Chapter 15: Mother in Minrathous

Assassinations and murders were as common as magic at Dorian’s level of society. He still wondered just what Halward had done, or whom he had underestimated enough to get himself killed.  Dorian had always seen his father as slightly boring, never willing to rock the establishment or do anything to get himself noticed, other than bearing the wealth and the prestige of the Pavus name itself.

It had been nearly half a year since Halward’s death, so he figured it wouldn’t be  _ too _ tasteless to start asking some questions.  The Magisterium had elected to take a fortnight recess (since they worked  _ so hard _ after all), so Dorian sent the necessary letters post haste to Qarinus, and a few days later he stood on the docks fighting nausea.  He attributed part of it from just standing on a dock; the rest…

The passengers on the Qarinus ferry stepped off one at a time.  Dorian stood straight, his family amulet resting atop his outer layer of robes, and his sending crystal tucked against his chest.  It tended to raise questions he wasn’t comfortable answering.  He’d made sure to have a new set of robes tailored in the Pavus colors, though now that he thought about it, he was afraid he looked a little too much like his dead father for his tastes.  Halward told him, that time in Redcliffe, that they were always so alike; Dorian knew they had both been stubborn and too proud for their own good.  He even looked more like his father.

Though, as the final passenger debarked from the ferry, perhaps he’d just been conditioned to believe he was a copy of Halward.  Dorian had Aquinea Thalrassian’s lighter-colored eyes, and many of her features had softened Halward’s in Dorian.  Where Halward had been hard angles, Dorian was smooth planes and finer lines.  Aquinea adjusted the brim of her outlandish sunhat and stood on the dock, looking around.  Dorian suppressed a smile and allowed her the moment.

Finally she looked at her son.  “Darling, good to see you.” She strode over to him.  She gave Dorian a hug, then held him at arm’s length and looked him up and down.  “Oh good, they haven’t entirely destroyed you yet.”

“Yet?  Mother, you wound me,” he said with a smile, and offered her his arm.  

“I do hope you brought a carriage?”

“No, I thought we might walk through the lower city and then to your apartment,” he told her, and chuckled when she swatted his arm.  “Of course I brought a carriage.  I know how you detest Minrathous.”

“I’ll get over it.” She waved flippantly.  Behind her, a small retinue of servants brought her luggage.  One would think she meant to move in, rather than stay for a week or so.  “I just have to be dramatic first.”

Dorian never doubted he got his dramatic flair from his mother, either.

He called a carriage for the servants and then helped his mother inside.  The carriage lurched and started on the way to the upper city-- or civilization, as Aquinea called it.  Dorian couldn’t fault her for the view; the Thalrassians were also an old Altus family, where magic and slavery and money ran as thick as their blood.  And even though Aquinea was a powerful mage in her own right (the Pavus line would require nothing less for a match with Halward), she’d spent nearly all of Dorian’s life, that he could remember, languishing in the Qarinus manor drinking and doing parlor tricks.

“Are you still with that boy?” she asked, breaking the silence as the carriage bumped over the cobblestones.  

Dorian absently added it to a list of things to bring up at the next Lucerni gathering. It would be a small improvement overall, but it would create work and would improve travel from the docks for everyone.  The more establishment Magisters couldn’t argue with that.  “He’s a man, Mother, and yes, we are together.”

“Is he here?”

Dorian shook his head.  “No.  I…  _ we _ thought it best for me to establish myself first.”  Better to keep his explanations to her uncomplicated.

Aquinea stared at him with her eyes, so like his.  Though she hadn’t been a shining example of a mother through his youth, she  _ was  _ still his mother.  “And the distance has not been an issue?”

“It is an issue, but we are making do.”  He tucked his left hand into a pocket in his robes, but she’d probably already seen his ring.  He wore a ring on nearly every finger, some enchanted, some just for looks, and none of them as simple as that gold band, which ironically made it stand out.  But he couldn’t take it off.

“As long as you know what you’re doing, dear.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing, Mother.  I’m just doing it and hoping for the best.”

“So you fit right into the Magisterium then.”

Dorian cocked his head to the side.  “Do you truly believe that no one in the Magisterium knows what they’re doing?”

She sighed.  “I didn’t intend to have a political discussion so soon, if at all.  Your father and I rarely discussed politics.”

“No, no, I’m interested in your views,” he told her, and truthfully so.  “I’ve not been in the Magisterium long, but what I’m seeing is that most are woefully out of touch, and not just with the general populace, but with their own classes.”

Aquinea sat straight and proper in the carriage, though they bounced around.  Her eyes narrowed and she peered at Dorian as if seeing an entirely different person.  “What  _ did _  your time down south do to you?” She sounded genuinely curious.  “You were such a pampered young man, and you enjoyed it very much.  No, don’t deny it, Dorian,” she said, in perhaps the most motherly tone he’d ever heard from her in his life. “What changed?”

“They saw me for who I truly am, not what I was expected to become,” he said after a moment of thought.  “And then  _ I _ saw myself, and who and what I could be.”  It was true, to a degree, but it had been Theo Trevelyan, the unexpected hero, making world-shifting decisions at the drop of a hat, who had inspired him to become more than the spoiled prodigal son.  Though looking at his mother, he wasn’t sure how he could get her to understand that just yet; maybe not ever.

No… one day he  _ would _ share that part of his life with his mother.  Without Halward around, maybe Dorian and his mother could start to have a slightly more familial relationship than they’d been afforded in the past.  And someday, when things were different, he would bring Theo home.

After her long sea voyage Aquinea simply had to rest, so Dorian saw her to the entry of the apartments she kept while in Minrathous, and then headed for his own.  “Will Mistress Aquinea be joining you here today?” Gavia, his head of staff here in Minrathous, asked.  She always seemed to lean forward just a bit, as if afraid of missing anything.

“Not today, Gavia,” Dorian told her.  “I’m not certain of her itinerary while she’s here.  You’d want to take that up with Caesennia.”

Gavia nodded.  “Yes, a routine Caesennia and I were quite accustomed to when I served your father.  If you’ll not be needing me this evening then, I thought I might take some time?”  

“Of course.  I’m a Pavus, but I’m not helpless,” he said with a smile as he shrugged out of his robe.

Gavia insisted on letting him know what preparations she’d made in the event that Aquinea did want to spend time at this residence later in the evening.  His clothing had been laundered and another new robe set from the tailor had been delivered.    A message from the cobbler apologized profusely that his new boots were not yet ready, but he would personally deliver them.  

Once Gavia had left, and only after she’d made certain Dorian was indeed set for the evening with his mother, he locked his doors and cast the silencing spells and privacy wards he’d perfected in his youth.  He reclined on a chaise in the library and dimmed the lights with a flick of a finger.  He pulled the sending crystal out from under his shirt.  “ _ Amatus _ ?  Theo, are you there?”  He held his breath; he never really knew just how far the crystal’s reach would extend, and more than that, he knew Theo faced darkspawn and more.  The moment of hesitation stirred at his fears.

“I’m here, Dor,” Theo said a moment later, and Dorian exhaled.  “Is it really nighttime there?” He yawned as if just the mention of night made him tired.

“It’s late afternoon.  My mother has come for a short Minrathous holiday and would like to go out tonight.  I didn’t know how late we would be.”

Theo gave a slight  _ humph _ and Dorian pictured him with a wry grin, rolling his eyes. “I have no concept of time down here.  Renn and Valta, the two dwarves we’re working with?  They’ve  never been to the surface.  I think they’re amused by the topsiders’ frustrations.”  

“You always did prefer sunny days.”

“So did you.”

“It’s a prerequisite for Tevinters.  Have you found anything noteworthy yet?”

“The problem with that question is I still don’t know what I’m looking for.” He heard the tension in Theo’s voice.  T

Theo was smart and quick, but he had little patience for mysteries or puzzles.  “We found a few bodies.  Human, if that helps.  They had some strange sigil on their clothes, I think it was Tevinter though.  Renn said it was odd to find human bodies down this far, in that quantity.”

“How many?”

“Half a dozen or so, maybe a few more?  They… weren’t in the best shape.”  Theo’s voice shook a little and Dorian felt a pang of guilt.  Theo had seen the worst during his time as Inquisitor; and with his mark, he’d sometimes caused it.  Whatever he saw now must be horrid indeed for him to falter.  “Tell me what you’ve been up to.  I need to think about something else.”

Dorian smiled, and wished he could be there with Theo.  Better yet, that Theo were here with him, out of the cursed Deep Roads.  “I went to a dreadfully boring party the other night, and I’ll probably see an equally dull opera with my mother tonight.  It rained here on Thursday, and I look absolutely dashing in the new robes I had tailored.”

Theo’s laugh was genuine this time.  “As if you’d look any other way.  As for the party, I can’t say I’m jealous of you.  I always hated those things.  The opera though…” His voice trailed off.  “Remember that night you took me to the opera in Val Royeaux?”

“I could never forget.”  Dorian had little taste for Orlesian opera, but they’d been in the capital city and had a free night, and most importantly, Theo had never been before.  It had taken Josephine all of a quarter hour to arrange a private box and tickets for the night.  The music itself had been decent, the performances good, but Dorian remembered Theo’s wide-eyed joy most of all.

A bell rang elsewhere in the house and Dorian sighed.  “Apparently my mother has sent her list of demands for the evening,” he said.  “We never have enough time to chat.”

“Someday,” Theo promised.  “I love you, Dor.”

“I love you as well,  _ Amatus _ .”  He closed the connection without saying goodbye.  They’d only ever said goodbye that once, and both agreed never to do it again.

An hour later Dorian waited under the awning of his building’s entryway.  He’d changed into the deep blue-green velvet and brocade ensemble he’d worn that night at the opera with Theo.  He leaned against a marble pillar, but straightened when his mother’s carriage pulled up.  The driver hopped down and opened the door. Aquinea stepped out.  She shook her head.  “Dorian… what  _ are  _ you wearing?”

“I should have thought it obvious, mother.  Look, I even remembered my opera glasses this time!”  He pulled the small gold-framed glasses from a carefully concealed pocket.

“Lovely, dear,  _ if _ we were going to the opera.”

He sighed, but tried to keep his smile pasted on.  He appraised his mother’s outfit.  Aquinea wore a slim-cut gown of deep crimson with a fitted black coat over it.  She wore a jeweled belt at her waist and had clipped a black, leather bound, silver-accented book at her hip.  She wore her dark hair pulled back in a low knot.  She was far more understated than he’d ever seen, and while he should be annoyed at having to change just before going out, he had to admit his intrigue.

Dorian dashed back up the stairs and worked to select something more appropriate for whatever his mother had planned.  He tried to feel annoyed, since he normally liked to have more time to dress, but part of him knew that Aquinea Thalrassian just liked to complicate things.  If only he’d known just how much.


	16. Halward's Shadow

#  Chapter 16: Halward’s Shadow

Dorian’s mother had to be a powerful mage in her own right, otherwise she never would have been selected to be Halward Pavus’s wife, and the mother to the Pavus heir.  Still, it always surprised Dorian when she showed her magical prowess, and this evening, he was particularly delighted when they ended up not at the opera, but at the Minrathous Circle for the presentation of a treatise on the ancient worship of Razikale.

“I thought these things were normally the realm of the old scholars,” he murmured to his mother as they exited the carriage and headed inside.

“They are,” she told him.  “I can’t help it if I’ve aged well.”  She carried herself imperiously and while she’d laid her hand on Dorian’s arm, she led him rather than he escorting her.

Dorian hadn’t had much of a chance to visit (one of) his old Circles since returning home.  He’d been sworn in and expected to get down to business so fast that he hadn’t realized until this evening just how much he needed to pause and enjoy himself.  Some would have said a night at the theater would be the cure; while Dorian did enjoy the theater well enough, he found himself quite excited about this evening.  

The spacious foyer smelled of old books and older magic.  He took two glasses of wine from a passing servant’s tray and handed one to his mother as they made their way to the grand lecture hall.  It was set up similar to the full senate chambers of the Magisterium; many of the mages who studied at this Circle went on to serve in the Magisterium in some capacity.

“Lady Aquinea Thalrassian; I didn’t think to see you out and about in Minrathous again!”  Dorian looked away from a tapestry depicting priests of Razikale and managed to bite back a groan when he saw Tanicus Thrassea and a much older man approaching.

“My son requested I visit, and it coincided with tonight’s lecture.  I’d hardly miss the opportunity to hear an expert on the subject.” She made a gracious half-bow.  “Dorian, Tanicus Thrassea, and his father, Enchanter Tacitus of the Minrathous Circle.”

Dorian also bowed in greeting.  “Tanicus was kind enough to host me at one of his soirees the other night.”  

“Of course he did,” Aquinea said in a warm voice. She sounded pleased that Dorian had gone out and been social outside of the Lucerni he’d aligned himself with.  Halward had probably told her what an embarrassment Dorian was when he’d visited in the month before his death.  Aquinea bowed once more.  “Dorian and I are going to take our seats now.  I look forward to your lecture, Tacitus,” she said with a bright smile.

“What was that about?” Dorian asked her when the sat.

His mother arranged her skirts and rested her spell book on the small writing desk on her right.  “It’s lovely that you agreed to return to my apartment after the lecture, darling.  We spend so little time together.  With your father gone, we’re all we have now.”  

_ Mother, _ Dorian thought with a sigh, and he was glad that he’d spoken to Theo already that evening.

Tacitus Thrassea was a gifted lecturer as well as Enchanter, and his sonorous voice (which he’d amplified with a small cantrip) had a musical quality as he told of the history of the Minrathous Circle as a center of Razikale worship.  Unlike the south, where Circles sprang up as prisons for mages--Dorian had never believed they truly intended to train mages--Tevinter’s Circles had once been devoted places of worship to the Old Gods.  Tacitus Thrassea was particularly interested in the fact that, since the defeat of Urthemiel almost fourteen years ago, Razikale was poised to become the next Archdemon.

“But where in the ground is her prison?  Where does  _ Eluvia _ sleep?” He asked, referring to the constellation associated with Razikale.

Dorian wished he could say otherwise, but he hung on every word.  He’d spent so many weeks now studying laws, rulings, and precedents; to learn, for the sake of knowledge, filled a well within him that he didn’t realize had gone dry.  

When the lecture ended Tacitus wove through the throng of attendees.  “Thank you again for coming, Aquinea.  Dorian, I know you were a bit of a scholar yourself while you resided here as a younger man, so I hope you enjoyed yourself?” 

He had the fatherly look of an old professor: a deeply lined face, slight stoop to his shoulders, and he carried his own folio of papers despite two slaves who trailed behind him, carrying his books.  “I did, thank you, Enchanter,” Dorian told him, and he wasn’t lying.

“I heard you traveled in the Frostback Basin region of Ferelden about a year ago?” Dorian nodded and the old man’s eyes lit up.  “Did you happen to move through Razikale’s Reach?”

“Move through, most likely; stop for research?  Alas, we did not.  We were on a bit of a schedule.”

Thrassea shook his head.  “That’s a shame.  And we’re not likely to convince the Magisterium that we need funding to send a team that far south to research the area.”

“If we’re going to talk funding for the Circles--”

“Dorian, dear, we have that reservation to keep,” Aquinea broke in, and it was easier for Dorian to politely extract himself from the conversation with Tacitus Thrassea than to remind his mother they’d made no reservations. “He’d keep you talking all night,” she told her son as they waited for the carriage.  In the carriage she cast a silencing ward around them.  “The Thrassea family are parasites,” she announced.  

“You pulled me out of a perfectly good networking opportunity,  _ and _ silenced our carriage of all things, to tell me that?” Dorian asked.  “Besides, aren’t they Altus?”

“I did, and they are.  Do be careful around them, darling.  You’ll slip into easy  _ networking _ conversation and the next thing you know, they’re presenting your ideas as their own and taking all the credit.”  Her voice dripped venom and her lip curled distastefully.

“It sounded like you liked old Tacitus.”

“I respect him as a scholar.  Or I did, until he borrowed some research and claimed it for his own.  I wanted to see if he was up to his old games.”

“Was he?”

She shrugged.  “The Razikale history and outline of the ritualistic worship was original.  But then again he’s been working on that for decades.  I think that, since the demise of Urthemiel and the issues with that…  _ thing  _ you fought---”

“Corypheus?”

“Yes, that’s the name.  Since all of that people are nervous and he’s enjoying a newfound interest in his old scholarly bailiwick.”  She tapped her chin.  “I may have even glimpsed Archon Radonis for a short while.”

The carriage pulled up in front of the Aquinea’s apartments. Dorian got out first and helped his mother down, before following her into her quarters.  He wished he could have said it reminded him of the family estate in Qarinus, but she’d constantly changed that one, as if she couldn’t decide what she liked or what she wanted to focus on.  Or maybe she’d just been bored.

Her surprisingly light and airy main sitting room boasted comfortable furniture and a balcony that offered an impressive view out to the city center. Magical lights dotted the Circle and the Magisterium.  The lit street lamps glittered in rows leading to the center of Minrathous.

Aquinea reappeared, this time wearing a plain crimson dressing gown.  She waved her hand and the air shimmered just a bit as a spirit flitted away.  “It will notify the staff I’d like drinks brought.  So much faster and easier than ringing a bell.”

Dorian smiled and shrugged out of his overcoat, which he draped over the back of a chair.  He settled down on a couch.  “This is the reservation we had, I assume?”

“Best drinks in the city.”  She concentrated for a moment, then began to move her hands in a complex pattern that Dorian recognized as similar to his own privacy wards, but with her own particular touches: he assumed, to allow her messenger spirits and drink attendants to come and go, and still not hear their conversation.

Sure enough, a servant came back with a drink cart and poured beverages for Dorian and his mother.  “You went to one of Tanicus Thrassea’s soirees then?” Aquinea asked, and Dorian nodded.  “How did you find it?”

“Dull.  Full of vapid individuals who thought themselves madly interesting.” Aquinea didn’t even try to hide her smile.  “Was that the wrong answer?”

“No; I’m just not surprised.  Tanicus has always had a reputation for trying to collect interesting and powerful people, for no reason other than to have them behind him.”

“Well.  I  _ am _ interesting, and I  _ am _ powerful.” Dorian sipped his drink.  He touched his glass with a slight chilling spell.  “I’d rather not be used for him to compensate for something he himself finds lacking.  Was Father ever invited?”

Aquinea chuckled.  “Halward?  Please.  He would be positively  _ seething _ to know that you not only attended, but were less than impressed.”

“Then my work here is done.” Dorian raised his glass in a mock toast.  

“ _ We _ both know how boring your father was.  He fancied himself as fascinating.  People liked him for his money and for his steadfast voice in the Magisterium.”  She rolled her eyes.  Dorian noticed that she hadn’t downed her drink yet; she sipped on it, savoring it.  And she’d only had one glass of wine at the lecture.

“If he was so boring…”  Dorian took a sip.  He didn’t know why he felt so nervous asking.   _ Because what if she outright said she was behind it? _ He thought, and then shook away the idea.  Aquinea hated Halward, but they’d made peace in their mutual hatred.  “If he was so boring, who would want him dead?  Especially if they got  _ me _ in his place.”

She reached over to pat his hand.  “Don’t sell yourself so short, darling.  You’re doing a fine job, from what I hear.  Not quite the legacy Halward would want, but I have to remember that you’re merely Halward’s son.  Not another incarnation of him.”  A shadow passed over her face and this time she did down what was left of her drink, and quickly waved for another.

“Was he… involved in anything?”

“Everyone is.” She took a sip of her fresh drink.  She tucked her legs up underneath her.  “He had some dealings with the Carta a few years back, but we saw to it that it was resolved.”  Dorian didn’t need to ask what she meant.  The glint in her eye made it clear that murder was involved.  “Oh, don’t worry, you needn’t watch your back.  It’s possible that they were behind it, I could give you some names if you’d like to follow up.”

Dorian laughed and his mother gave him a strange look.  “Theoda--the Inquisitor always said that sometimes Tevinter sounded so strange.  And here my mother is essentially confessing she may have arranged a murder to exonerate my father, and is willing to let me know whom to speak with to assure myself that I’m not next.”

“When you put it that way, of course it sounds like something out of a ridiculous novel.”  She sniffed.  “There is a binding agreement in place that you were not to be harmed by them.  If that makes you feel any better.”

“I’m not sure it does, but I appreciate the motherly concern.”

This time she raised her glass and offered him a sardonic smile.  They drank in silence for a bit.  “Dorian… I wasn’t a very good mother,” she said at last.  She stared into her empty glass, and didn’t call for a new one.

Any number of retorts came to mind: she was the product of their social station; Halward had been too overbearing; Dorian himself had been a spoiled, overpowered little shit.  All of that was true, and none of it could be changed.  “You could make it up to me,” he offered.  The thought had been building in his mind since Aquinea had announced her visit.  She looked at him now, her grey eyes narrow and her mind, so much like his, carefully calculating where he aimed to go with this.  “The Pavus family has more money than we know what to do with--yes, even after buying that vineyard, and the Antivan stud.”

“In all fairness, his lineage alone makes him worth it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, and I’m sure he’s more of an investment than anything.  But that’s my point, eventually that will bring in more. And…” Maker’s testicles, why was this so difficult?  It was a simple solution to a big problem facing the Imperium.  “I’d like it if you gave thought to paying the household staff.”

She set down her glass.  “Is this your order as head of the household now?”

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up.  “I’m not… fine, technically I am the head of the Pavus household now.  But I’m not ordering you to do anything.  It’s merely a request for you to think about it.”  He stood and stared out the glass balcony doors.  “I learned much during my time in the South, and I’ve learned much since coming back.  I’ve always loved Tevinter.  I’ve always wanted to improve Tevinter, and now I’m in a position to do it, but I have to start small.”

“Do you pay your staff?”

“I pay my personal staff, and have drafted up plans to fund some Laetan pages’ Circle studies,” he told her.  “If I want reform, I have to be willing to show that even the most spoiled, pampered, Tevinterest Tevinter that ever existed can live under those conditions; indeed  _ has been  _ well before he proposed them to the Senate as a whole.”  He took a deep breath.  “I’m doing it, and asking you to consider doing it, because it’s the right thing to do.”

His mother stared at him for a long while.  Dorian began to feel slightly uncomfortable under her scrutiny, something he rarely felt as a boy or even as a young man home on holidays.  Halward always scrutinized him, pointing out his flaws and faults.  Aquinea always stood well behind her husband, a wispy shadow constantly drinking her wine and sometimes, something much stronger; always indifferent, always quiet.

He realized she wasn’t looking for faults or flaws.  For the first time in his life, one of his parents truly tried to see  _ him _ as he was.  “I don’t understand you, Dorian,” she said at last, but without the tone of frustration or disappointment he was so used to.

“Do you  _ want  _ to?” He was so angry at the way his voice trembled; but deeply feared being vulnerable with his surviving parent.  Without the shadow of Halward looming over the both of them, there was finally a chance.  

“It will take time, but yes.  I spent so many years resenting you as a duplicate of your father; but my hatred of all things Halward blinded me to how very much like me you truly are.”

“That… may be the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”  Dorian dropped his eyes to the patterned carpet.  The swirls of deep blue and and green and cream swam before his eyes and he took a deep breath to steady himself.  He cleared his throat.  “Thank you for the evening out, Mother.  I need to take my leave now.”

“You’re welcome, Dorian.  I would like to see you again before I have to return home, and perhaps this time I really  _ will _ take you to the opera.”  

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a threat or not,” he said with a grin as he took his leave.  Dorian did not call the carriage. He walked home through the pleasant night, the fresh air helping him clear his head. His mother had surprised him, but pleasantly so: first with the lecture, and then with her confession.  It had not only been the first pleasant conversation with her that he could remember, but the first actual conversation at that.  He decided, as he made his way into his apartment, that he might like his mother.


	17. The Thaig That Time Forgot

#  Chapter 17: The Thaig that Time Forgot

The underground stream was so cold that only its constant movement kept it from freezing over.  Maranda was so filthy that she tolerated the chill because it meant getting something close to clean.  Maker only knew when they’d find running water again.  The icy water sliced at her skin and left her hands numb; nothing a small heat cantrip couldn’t fix, but she didn’t think she had even that much in her after the last battle they’d fought.

They’d ridden an ancient lift down into a deeper level of the Deep Roads and set up camp near the spring, only after Fianna had declared the immediate area free from darkspawn. Then the Warden collapsed, using her rolled up bedding as a pillow and falling asleep on the rock.

Everyone took advantage of the respite.  They’d been on the go with very little rest.  Without the sun or the darkness no one knew how much time passed.  Theo estimated it had been two days, based on his conversations with Dorian.  

When Maranda finally looked up from scrubbing herself in the stream, her younger brother was leaning against a rock a short ways away, resting his head back and clutching something in his hand.

Maranda wound her hair into a thick braid.  She tried not to think about just how dirty her hair was.  Circle life had  _ not _ prepared her for any of this, and she felt a little silly traipsing along underground.  When she fought she lacked the finesse of the rest of her companions. Even Theo managed to weave through the melee, disabling what enemies he could with distracting stabs or slashes, before whirling away.  He only had one functional arm, but he’d settled into a rhythm and quickly found his usefulness.

“Are you worried about him?” Cardenio joined her at the stream.  

Maranda splashed her face once more and rinsed out her mouth.  The cold made her teeth hurt.  “He’s my little brother.  I think I’m obligated to.”

Cardenio rinsed his hands in the water and then rubbed his eyes.  “They do not tell you how the grime gets in your eyes,” he said, blinking.  “You sweat and the dust gets mixed in.  Then you sweat more and suddenly cannot see.  Very inconvenient in the thick of battle.”  He glanced over at Theo again.  “Your brother, he does well looking after himself.  I think  _ he _ worries for  _ you _ .  You are the older sister, but he’s been to dark places and he knows them well when he returns to them.”  He pulled off his grimy overshirt and dunked it in the water.  He wrung it out over his head, shivering.  He shook it out and laid it on the stones to dry before doing the same with his undershirt.

Maranda looked around her, rather than at Cardenio’s bare torso.  Down here, the gloom surrounded them but the edges of the nearly forgotten Dwarven city had been lit with magical torches.  No one knew quite why they sought out Tevinter mages, but at least they were on the right trail.  “Don’t you fear an attack?” she asked him at last.

He leaned back on his elbows.  “I always have a blade somewhere.  But I can’t fear an attack.  If I did, then I’d always live in fear.”

“I was raised in the Circle.  Living in fear was encouraged.”

“Are you afraid now?”

“Of course.” She toyed with the end of her braid.  “Kirkwall was the farthest from home I’d ever been, and now I’m…”  She looked up at the cavernous ceiling, lost to darkness.  “I don’t know where I am.”

“Probably still Ferelden,” said Rocky, the dwarven sapper,  as he passed by.  He didn’t seem completely out of his element down here, maybe because he was a dwarf.  “The Shaper, she’s looking at old maps.  She’s getting pretty excited about it, too.”

“That’s not hard,” Cardenio pointed out.

Maranda headed for her bedroll and laid down.  She squirmed around on the solid rock, sitting up once to pull a smaller piece of stone out from under her, and reclined once more.  She closed her eyes.  The quiet of their camp allowed her to hear the far off echoes of some creature or other.  She just wanted to sleep, but all of the little sounds kept her far more alert than a lively camp would have.

She sat up when she heard heavy boots clumping back into camp.  Renn, the Iron Bull, and Sera had come back with strange bundles over their shoulders.  Valta and Rocky had a fire going and a spit set up.  Maranda turned away while dinner was skewered.  She would probably eat better if she didn’t know what she was eating.

Sera joined her, setting down her bow and quiver.  “You alright then?” Maranda nodded.  “Just tired from all that…” she waggled her fingers.  “Funny that all you do is--” she waggled her fingers again, “and you get too tired.”

Maranda had to smile.  “It’s more than just that.  I can do this--” she imitated Sera imitating a mage, “for an hour and be fine.  It’s the energy it uses up from inside of me.”

“That’s a convenient excuse, innit,” Sera said, but she smiled.  “You’re not bad, for a magey one.”  She grabbed all of her bangs in one hand and pulled out her pocket knife.  “You could have run away, but hey, you haven’t even complained about your posh locks gettin’ dirty.”  She sawed off a hunk of hair as Maranda watched, torn between horror and amusement.  “See, me, I just want the hair out of my eyes.  Can’t stand when it gets in the way of a good shot.  Your brother over there?  He needs a haircut.  He’d shoot better if he could see better.”

_ I hardly think Theo’s hair is what’s making shooting tough for him, _ Maranda thought, but she just shrugged and offered Sera a polite smile.  It was true, she internally screamed over how dirty she was, and wondered if her hair would recover-- or if before the end of this she’d give in and ask Sera to help her hack it off.  Still, it was nice to hear that she was in fact pulling her weight.

Some time later Renn announced the food was ready, and everyone gathered around the fire.  Cardenio had put his shirts back on, and Maranda wondered where he kept all of his blades.  Theo had taken off his prosthetic forearm and stripped down to his undershirt.  She’d never really gotten a good look at the scars on his left arm, where his elbow had been.  Just now they were raw and red in the firelight where his false arm rubbed at it.

Renn and Rocky passed out chunks of hot meat from the spits, both looking far too cheerful for whatever it was they were about to eat.  Maranda closed her eyes and held her breath before taking a bite, then chewed quickly. 

Once the first round of the meal had gone around Valta stood before them all.  “I’ve looked at the old maps, and from what I can tell, we’ve made it to the outskirts of Heidrun Thaig.”  Her eyes glinted in the firelight and her voice trembled with excitement, even as she tried to remain reverent.  

“By the Stone,” Renn breathed, one hand over his heart in a salute.  

“What does that mean for us?” Theo looked up at Valta.  Her expression clearly said she hadn’t thought that far ahead, but just then another tremor shook the ground and the massive cavern around them.  “Never mind,” Theo added, grim.  “We keep going, I suppose.”

“Did Dorian tell you what we’re looking for?” Bull asked.

“Signs of slavers,” Theo said.  “Those bodies back in the warrens though, they were so desecrated there was no telling who or what they were.”  He stared into the fire.  “If this is an old Thaig, what does that mean?”

“Still darkspawn.” Fianna sat up with a wince and a yawn.  “Not the same as in the warrens, but there will be darkspawn.  They’re out there.”  She took the food the Iron Bull offered her.  “They always will be.”

“Lucky there’s only two archdemons left,” Renn said.

Theo hugged one knee to his chest.  “The Orlesian Wardens, under Clarel… they’d been tricked into thinking they could end the Blights by marching on the Old Gods themselves down here in the Deep Roads.  They said they were just being vigilant.”

“The Wardens are full of interesting interpretations.”  Fianna’s smile twisted her features into a strange grimace, as if she couldn’t decide between disgust or amusement.  

“How are you feeling, now that you’re down here?” Bull asked.  His voice was soft but carried through the gloom.

Fianna closed her eyes.  “Still exhausted, but I don’t think that will ever go away.  And…. strangely, I feel better.  On the surface everything kept calling to me, driving me to the edge some days and nights.  Here, I can follow them and just… well, not worry.  It’s oddly freeing.”

“S’why Wardens and Legion get along so well.” Renn grinned.  “You don’t worry about dying, because you’re already dead.”  He laughed at the joke only he could appreciate.  Valta shook her head, smiling, but sad.  

They planned to proceed slowly through the ancient Thaig, looking for clues.  Valta would collect as much research as she could along the way.  Fianna would take point, sensing for darkspawn.  “We try to avoid altercations as much as possible,” she ordered.  “We won’t have time to retreat and wait for reinforcements this far down.  This is where you both come in,” she said with a pointed glance at Theo and Sera.  “We’re not as closed in as we were in the warrens.  We’ll do as much from a distance as we can.  If we have to get in close, Renn and I go first.”

Theo sat up a bit straighter and leaned forward slightly.  Cardenio nodded in understanding.  “We don’t know what the light situation is going forward,” the Iron Bull said.  He turned his single eye on Maranda.  She tried to remain relaxed, but something about the scrutiny of his gaze made her squirm.  “Usually these old places had ways of lighting things up, but if it gets dark we’ll need you to work your magic.  Literally,” he added with a smile, and Maranda nodded.

They arranged watches and the strategy session broke up.  “How  _ is _ your magic holding up down here?” Cardenio asked.

“No worse than above ground,” she told him.  “Though if we end up in a heavy fight I might need to bow out.  I wasn’t trained for combat; combat mages are good at rationing their mana and strategizing how to expend it.  But lighting up the path?  I can manage that for a time.”  She called forth a wispy light and let it dance at her fingertips.

Theo ambled over.  He’d washed in the stream as well, the cold leaving his cheeks rosy.  His hair stuck up in places.  Maranda wondered if Sera would offer him a haircut.  “I keep thinking about the bodies we found.”  He chewed his bottom lip, staring out at nothing in particular.  “Were they alive when the darkspawn did that, do you think?”

“I can’t think about it,” Maranda told him.  “I’m seeing things I never thought I would, and that’s hard enough.  If I think about…”  She swallowed.  She wished he hadn’t said anything, because she’d done a fine job of keeping it out of her mind.  She shuddered and waved the wispy light away.  “You’ve seen some terrible things, yeah?”

“And done some of them myself.  I’m not exactly proud of everything I did, even if I felt I had no other choice.”

“So if that’s bothering you then it must be bad.”

“I just hope they were dead before the darkspawn had their way,” Theo said.  He yawned, but Cardenio shook his head.

“None of that.  Now we practice.”

Theo took a deep breath, then just nodded and got to his feet.  He headed back for his pack, but dove to the right when Cardenio lunged at his left side.  He tucked and rolled and dodged another swipe from Cardenio, then managed to free his own knife from a hidden sheath.  Cardenio looked over his shoulder and grinned at Maranda.  “He can learn!” he called, and Maranda couldn’t help but smile back.  Not too far away, the Iron Bull’s chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.  He caught her glancing over at him.  

“It’s good to see the kid fighting again,” he told her.  “For a little while, we all thought he’d given up.”

“Trevelyans are stubborn,” she said.  “We don’t give up easily.”  Even when she wanted to.

* * *

  
  


They found the first intact body two hours into their march the next “morning”.  Most of the party hung back, but Bull, Cardenio, and Theo examined it.  “Looks like he caught his foot on this edge here and broke it.  Couldn’t move on, so they killed him.” Bull squatted by the body.  

“It was a quick death, which was probably a mercy,” Cardenio noted.  “They were in a hurry.”

“If it was merciful, it was unintentionally so.” Fianna brushed her fingers over the dark pendant she wore.  “They didn’t want darkspawn finding them.  They killed him to buy themselves more time.”

“Lucky for him.” Cardenio raised his eyebrow.

Bull turned the body over and examined it with cold precision.  He gestured to Maranda to join him.  “You don’t have to look; I just need a good light,” he said, his voice even and kind.  

She nodded and shuffled over, trying to keep her eyes averted.  Theo stared long and hard at the body, his jaw clenched and his face pale in the magelight she cast over them.  And try as she might to avoid it, she still caught a glimpse of the body.  It was a young man, skinny and just starting to decay; his cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken, his hair shaven.  His throat was a black gash where he’d been executed.  Her stomach turned and she looked away, holding her hand over the body so Bull and Theo could examine it further.

“Andraste’s fucking tits,” Theo murmured.  Iron Bull said something in his strange language that had a similar meaning.  “You can kill the light, Maranda.  Thank you,” Theo told her in a shaking voice.  “I know we’re on a schedule here, but… can we burn the body?  I can’t leave him like this.”

Maranda dared a glance at her brother.  His hand trembled.

Renn nodded.  “Don’t want the deepstalkers to get him.  It’s amazing they haven’t yet as it is.  We can take that time.”  The grizzled Deep Roads veteran had to have seen the shock and horror in Theo’s eyes.  Renn and Bull arranged the body.  Maranda focused a flame spell at the corpse, hot enough to set it ablaze and keep it burning.  She turned away; the funereal flames burned hot at her back.

The next two bodies were in much the same shape as the first, and Theo and the Bull shared an unspoken language as they examined them.  Maranda set fire to those as well.  She thought about praying for their repose; but what Maker allowed people to die like this, where they could be defiled by darkspawn, where murder was the best expedient?

They emerged from a tunnel into an open cavern.  The Bull gave a low whistle.  “I’ll be a nug’s uncle,” Renn said, leaning on his axe.

“The Memories would never do this justice.”  Valta fell to one knee.

Maranda had navigated the Fade and had seen the wonders of that unreality, and she still had trouble processing what she saw now.  She hadn’t realized their world was so  _ big _ , that it could fit something this  _ massive _ beneath it.  Heidrun Thaig dropped into darkness below them, and the ceiling above them was lost in darkness.  A statue that larger than many buildings stood in the center: a stern dwarf overseeing his desolate kingdom.

From far off came squeals and shrieks that made her skin prickle.  “Just deepstalkers,” Valta said. 

“You mean dinner,” Renn said with a grin.  Behind them, Sera made a retching noise.

They started off down a steep path that was wide enough, but just knowing about the sheer drop to one side kept most of them clinging to the wall.  The silence, broken only by those squeals, became unnerving, so Valta told stories of Heidrun the Deep.  Suddenly Theo stopped.  “This Thaig used to be a lyrium mine?”  Valta nodded.  “What if the bodies we’ve found are miners?”

“There are plenty of lyrium mines elsewhere on the continent, and this place looks pretty barren.” Renn sounded doubtful.  

“But  _ if _ someone has started trying to mine down here again, after all these years, maybe that’s what woke the titan!” Valta’s dark eyes shone bright and Renn shook his head.

“Those guys we burned back there didn’t look like miners,” Bull said.  “All skin and bones… give one of them a pickaxe and he’d keel over.”

“Probably what happened,” Sera said.

“When Dorian contacts me I can let him know what I found.  Maybe he has more information.” Theo tried to smile hopefully, but the haunted look hadn’t left his face even though they’d left the bodies far behind.


	18. Killer Queen

#  Chapter 18: Killer Queen

Theo stood on the rocky outcropping, doing his best to blend into the shadowed stone wall behind him.  The hurlock standing outside of the entry to the great hall of the Thaig paced back and forth.  His breathing came in short, nervous hiccups.  The hand holding the bow did not shake; the hand that nocked the arrow did.  He raised the bow out before him.  He felt some pressure on his bicep, where the bands of his prosthesis pressed in.  He drew the bowstring and took aim.  He couldn’t feel the arrow resting against his false finger and focused instead on visually aligning it.  

Theo hadn’t had to think about shooting a bow since he was a child.

He closed his eyes for a moment and felt the tension in his back muscles and the tightness of the bowstring, the tickle of the fletching in his real fingers.  He could still shoot.  When he looked once more, the hurlock had stopped pacing.  Theo held his breath, adjusted a hair’s breadth, and released his arrow.

The hurlock looked up when it heard his string twang and the arrow whistling through the dead air of the Thaig, and Theo’s arrow lodged in its throat.  There’d been a time when he could have taken it out through the eye, but he was elated to have at least hit the thing with a fatal shot.  It gurgled and suffocated on its own blood.  Another came out to assess the noise, and Sera took that one out with an arrow through the eye.  

Below, Fianna gave a low whistle: her signal that the immediate area was cleared of darkspawn.  Theo descended from his perch, meeting up with Sera halfway.  “Good shot there,” she said, but he didn’t know if she meant his or her own impressive shot.  He just nodded; he still trembled from the excess energy running through him.  It almost reminded him of when he closed the first Breach: pride and relief combined.

Fianna consulted with Valta and Renn before they decided to press onward.  Theo clutched the sending crystal as if he could siphon off some of his energy into the magical jewel.  He hadn’t spoken to Dorian in hours.  Even with Dorian’s promise to contact him each night he was losing track of time.  But since finding that first body, nothing really mattered other than finding out what was going on.  Another large quake had shaken Heidrun Thaig… yesterday?  The day before?  Ever since Valta’s conjecture that something disturbed the titan he’d been uneasy.

Renn didn’t truly believe there was a titan.  Bull always seemed skeptical when it came up, and others: Sera, Maranda, Cardenio, even the dwarf Rocky dismissed it as an old dwarven legend.

Theo had seen enough weird shit in his life to believe Valta.

They found another couple of bodies; these had fallen to the scavenging deepstalkers, and bore signs of darkspawn corruption as well.  And like the others…  He still had to tell Dorian that.  It added a whole new layer of horror to what he discovered.  He would take a Fade rift, or Corypheus over this any day.  At least those were evil by nature.  They weren’t people doing terrible things to other people for their own gain.

“Hey.”  The Iron Bull stood next to him, still towering over him.  “You going to be alright?”

Theo slung his bow over his shoulder and took a sip from his water skin.  “I said I was done saving the world.”

“But.”

“Corypheus, Hakkon, Fen’harel… They weren’t mortal.  They were gods, or shadows of gods that wanted too much.  And me, I’m just a guy with one arm.  I’m no match for a god.”

“I don’t know, you kicked Corypheus and Hakkon’s asses pretty well,” Bull told him.  “And I’d put money on you giving Solas a good fight.  You  _ were _ in pretty rough shape by the time you faced him.  Now?”  Bull’s deep chuckle sounded like boulders rolling down a hill.

Theo didn’t like thinking about that time just several months back, but Bull had a point.  If he saw Solas, or Fen’harel or whomever right now, he wouldn’t hold back.  “I appreciate your confidence, Bull.  But what I meant was, whoever we’re chasing down here is human.  I think I’m done taking on gods, but anyone who’d do the things we saw?  I’d take them on without question.”

Bull didn’t smile.  “I’d ask some questions first, just to make sure you have the right answers.  But you’ve got a good spirit at least.”

“Spirit isn’t enough.”

“I think you need to strike that word from your vocabulary,” Bull said.  Theo raised an eyebrow.  “Enough.  It’s a dangerous word for anyone, but especially for you, and don’t give me that look like you don’t know it.”

There was never any point trying to hide anything from Bull, so Theo just nodded and they headed deeper into the Thaig.  “Don’t know how you lot can enjoy living down here like this,” Sera grumbled as Renn and Valta passed her.

“I know nothing else,” Valta said, unoffended.  “I came from the Stone, and to the Stone I will return.  My life is of the Stone.  You look up and all you see is the underside of your ground pressing down.”  She stared upward.  “I look up and feel the Stone around me.  I look down, and the Stone is endless below me.”

Sera sniffed.  “Feels like the world’s biggest prison, and I don’t just mean the underground.”

The dwarven caste system was something Theo learned about during Josephine’s political tutelage, but he didn’t understand it as much as he’d have liked.  Such intense social stratification ensured that there would always be the haves and the have-nots, and rarely would there be any opportunity for anything different-- especially for the lower castes or the casteless.  Dwarves like Renn joined the Legion to atone for crimes or to save their families by giving their very lives.  Dwarves like Dagna said sod it all and followed a path not of the Stone.

The Ostwick Chantry and generations of Free Marches politics planned out Theo’s entire life.  Growing up, he hated feeling like he had no control over his fate.  Then, as Inquisitor he’d also realized he had little control.  Now that he had choices, what was he choosing? 

For a time, their footfalls made the only sounds.  Sometimes a deepstalker shrieked, but they grew used to that, and even the far-off guttural cries of darkspawn grew familiar.  When the wordless human moans broke that relative quiet, Theo nearly shat himself.  The anguished voice sobbed unintelligibly, full of the worst pain Theo could imagine-- and he’d been through some awful pain.

“Hang back,” Fianna ordered in low voice.  She beckoned to Theo, and then after a moment of thought to Maranda as well.  “I’m sorry, but we may need the light.” She truly looked apologetic.

Maranda licked her lips.  She shook out her hands and took a deep breath before following them.

“You know what we’re looking for?” Theo swept his eyes around the thaig.

“Remember the bodies back in the warrens?” Fianna asked, and Theo nodded with a shudder.  “Yeah.  This one is still alive though.”

His heart pounded, like a corpse beating its way out of a coffin.  Maranda walked slowly, her face pale in the glow of her magelight.  She looked a little thinner, her long dark hair pulled back into a tangled braid.  He felt terrible dragging her along, but she’d  _ wanted _ to come.  Theo and the others, they’d  _ needed _ to come.

Fianna stopped and dropped to one knee.  Maranda instinctively turned away, but kept her light glowing for them.  Theo joined Fianna.  A burning jolt surged through his body and his throat closed up as his stomach heaved.

The young man was still alive but spidery black veins crawled up his neck and face.  Grime and dried blood covered his skinny hands and he reached out, scrabbling at Fianna’s boots.  She didn’t swat his hands away, but took them in her own, gently shushing him while he sobbed.  A length of chain dangled from his neck.  His legs were caught under a boulder that had fallen, perhaps during one of the most recent earthquakes.  His arms and torso were covered with darkspawn scratches and deepstalker bites.

And like the other corpses they’d found, his tongue had been cut out.

He stared up at Fianna with tears streaming down his filthy face.  His mouth gaped and his sobs grew louder and more desperate.  “We can’t help him,” Theo murmured, looking at the boulder and the crushed legs and the creeping corruption.  And even if they could…

“We can.” Fianna sat on the ground and placed her hand on his head.  “Shhh. There is but one end.” She met his crazed eyes.  He nodded.  “I give you the only gift I can: an end to your suffering.”  His sobs still shook him, but he closed his eyes and then exhaled.  Fianna pulled a small knife from her belt and whispered something before jabbing the blade between his ribs and twisting.

His mouth fell open in a gaping black hole of surprise and his last breath shrieked into his lungs, but his final exhale was gentle and complete.  Fianna rested her hand on his forehead.  “Darkspawn ruin everything they touch.”  Theo didn’t see the hardened Warden Queen; he saw a woman grown old and tired before her time, fighting a battle she did not choose.  She swallowed and rubbed her eyes.  “Only when the final Blight is over, will the darkspawn eventually die out for good.  But people?”  She shook her head.  “Darkspawn just  _ become _ .  They don’t know  _ how _ to do anything other than destroy.  I hate them, but I understand them.”

While most would probably disagree with her, Theo understood.  Whoever was behind all of this had made the conscious decision to render these poor people unable to communicate.  It ensured that no one would be able to tell another soul what occurred down here in the deep.  A person had consciously chosen sheer cruelty.  Theo had made judgment calls before; people had disagreed with him.  But he’d always tried to consider the crime and how to best render justice.  He had worked to keep from losing himself and becoming hardened and cruel.  He’d been criticized for being too soft by some; but he didn’t want to become a monster.

He didn’t want to become a person who was capable of doing this to others.

Fuck that-- it wasn’t just being capable of doing it, but of even  _ thinking _ of it as a possibility.

“Theodane.  You’re shaking.”  Fianna looked up and a lank lock of auburn hair fell in her gaunt face.

“Why aren’t you?” Anger rolled through him with nowhere for it to go. If he’d still had the green mark on his hand, it would have exploded.  But he didn’t have the mark, and he didn’t have his hand, but the hand that wasn’t there burned and trembled.  He swore and kicked a patch of stones that clattered away.  

She rested her hand on the young man’s veiny cheek.  “I wish I could.  I saw so much of this during the Blight, then as the Warden Commander.  I’ve seen young people in the best of health die during a Joining.  I  _ am  _ feeling this.  But I can’t make myself react anymore.”  She got to her feet.  “Maybe it’s for the best I got the Calling.  There’s so little left of what made me human.”

Theo’s righteous anger died.  He glanced between Fianna and Maranda, whom he’d almost forgotten was there.  He recalled what Bull had said about ‘enough’ being a dangerous word for him.  The burst of furious energy from a moment before fizzled, leaving him drained and exhausted.  “What do we do?”

“Give him a proper death, and then keep moving,” Fianna said.  “It’s the best we can do.”

It wasn’t even the  _ best _ they could do-- just all that they  _ could _ do.

Theo went to collect his flint, but Maranda shook her head.  “I can do this.”  She held a hand out before her.  She furrowed her brow, eyes locked on the body, and flames jetted from her palm.  “Will you be alright?” she asked him.

“I will be.”  He closed his eyes and tried not to smell burning flesh.  “ The Light shall lead him safely through the paths of this world, and into the next,” he cited.  He’d stopped caring about the Chantry and what they thought a very long time ago; but the Chant itself could be beautiful in places, and Theo needed some beauty in the midst of all this ugliness.

He would have stalked off, but the ground began to shake under him, over him, and around him.  There was no escaping the Titan’s rage, and no escaping his own.  Theo kept his footing, shielding his head the best he could.  The ground didn’t just shake; it undulated, an ocean of stone threatening to drown them with rock.

At last the quake tapered off.  “Fuck me,” Sera muttered, getting to her feet and brushing dust off of her.

“Everyone alright?” Bull called in his deep and steady voice.  Theo was glad to have him along: someone who knew what he was doing in the midst of this whole motley party of people stumbling along.  Renn helped people to their feet and Valta remained on one knee, pressing her hand to the path beneath her feet.  

Theo bit back a harsh laugh.  What  _ was _ ‘alright’ anymore?

“Let’s move out,” Fianna suggested, but she’d drawn her daggers.  

Renn looked her up and down.  “Warden?”

“The sooner we move out the better.”  She clutched her daggers so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“You heard the Warden,” Bull said, again in that even voice.  Theo had heard that tone before, right before things got bad.  Right before Bull had chopped his arm off.

Sera straightened up.  “You hear that, yeah?” Her eyes went wide as she looked between everyone.  She held a finger to her lips.  A flock of deepstalkers shrieked: discomfiting, but manageable.  “Wait,” she whispered.  Theo held his breath.  Then came the sounds of the darkspawn: grunts, howls, guttural roars and high pitched screams, all getting closer.

The aftershocks came in brief waves and the sounds of the darkspawn grew louder.  “I was in Orlais for shits and giggles for a bit.” Sera shouldered her pack and struck off, pausing when an aftershock nearly knocked her down.  “Posh gits like to hunt foxes.  Don’t know why, foxes done nothing to them other than maybe not be posh enough, but yeah, point is those arse biscuits liked to raise a right fucking ruckus.”

“Point being…” Maranda asked, glancing behind her, and then trying to find her footing as they began to press onward again.

“Darkspawn fuckers are hunting us.”

Everyone looked at Fianna and Renn, the two people who knew the most about darkspawn.  Renn offered a curt nod.  “Where are we going?” he asked Valta.

Bull didn’t wait for an answer.  “Forward.” He pushed everyone ahead and took up the rear.  “Lieutenant, Rocky, with me.  Warden, lead on.  Grim?  Stitches? Everyone else, move as fast.  As.  You.   _ Fucking. Can _ .”

One room turned into a long hallway that ended in a sharp corner.  Theo had to trust Fianna’s Warden sense that they would not run into a horde of darkspawn as they took the blind corners.   _ She’s navigated Deep Roads before.  She’s been a Warden for years. _  His chest ached and tightened and his legs burned while his heart beat acid through his veins.  His missing hand itched and tingled.  In a moment of panic he touched the sending crystal: it remained on its chain around his neck.   _ I can’t die down here.  Not without seeing Dorian again. _

They turned another corner, ran out into a vast chamber with burning fires and scattered dead bodies and his anger gave him the energy to keep moving forward.  The darkspawn closed in, moving faster than seemed possible; unless they were all so exhausted they were running more slowly?  

Behind him, Sera waited for Bull to pass, and turned to fire a volley of arrows to stun and slow the pursuit, before she dashed in front of  Bull once more.  Maranda did the same, letting loose a crackling burst of lightning.  She stumbled on her way past Bull and Theo grabbed her hand and pulled her along.  

Fianna led them into another corridor; the narrow passage choked up some of the horde behind them, and they kept going until the way was blocked with a closed door.  “Locked-- magically,” she snarled, kicking the door hard.  

Maranda shook Theo’s hand off of her.  “Dwarves can’t do magic,” she said between gasps.  She took a quick swig of water.  “This is human magic.  It’s not a difficult locking spell.  They figured that  _ if _ they had to contend with anyone, it would be dwarves.”

“Probably Legion,” Renn said.  “No one else would have any other reason to come down to this damned place.”  He spat off to the side and readied his axe.  “You and me, Warden. Winner buys drinks at the next tavern we find.”

Fianna forced a smile.  “Hope your purse is heavy.  I can  _ drink _ .”

“To some she’s the Hero of Ferelden… others refer to her as the Queen or Warden Commander… I was just amazed to find someone who could out drink me,” the Iron Bull said with a fond smile.  Bull’s tone… that look on his face… Something started to strangle Theo, something from deep inside.  He’d fought alongside Bull long enough to know him, even though Bull still retained so much of his Ben-Hassrath training.  Maranda had gotten to work on the magical lock.  Sera had nocked three arrows at once.  Bull hefted his axe, but hung back and allowed Fianna and Renn to take point.  “Fletch, cover your sister.  She’s our way out of this.”

Theo had heard  _ that  _ tone as well: Bull’s eerily calm, don’t-fuck-around tone.  He didn’t pull it out often so when he did, Theo listened.  He pulled out his bow and the contact runes engaged; his metal fingers wrapped around the grip.  He loosely nocked an arrow and stood with his back to Maranda, who was tracing over an invisible glyph with her finger.  Her hand only slightly trembled.

“Watch where you aim that,” Sera told him with a glance over her shoulder.

“I’m not an idiot,” he snapped.  “This is if they get through you lot.”  Though if they did, he didn’t know what the point would be of firing off a single arrow, which probably would miss anyway.  But he was a Trevelyan; Trevelyans were stubborn, and more than that, he was  _ Theo Trevelyan _ , perhaps the stubbornest one in the family’s history.  He planted his feet firmly in firing stance and held his bow up.  He’d never gone down without a fight.

The first darkspawn shrieks and garbled laughs came down the corridor.  Theo’s heart hammered in his chest.  He’d never been backed into a corner like this.  He glanced back at Maranda.  The lines of the glyph glowed and she traced over them with her other hand this time.  Sweat glistened on her forehead and strands of hair escaped her messy braid.  The color of the glow changed to a bright violet-white and Maranda’s shoulders sagged in relief.  She held her palm out toward the glyph and the bright magic crackled and began to pull away from the door, toward her fingertips.

Sera’s bowstring twanged.  A hurlock screamed.  The ground began to tremble.  Bull backed up.  Maranda jumped to her feet and pushed to the front, heedless of Theo’s shouts.  “Duck,” she called to Renn and Fianna, and then let loose an explosion of blinding lightning.  “Door,” she shouted to Bull, who didn’t question her, but turned back and worked to shove the heavy door open.

For one horrible moment Theo wondered if what was on the other side would be worse than what was coming down the corridor.  

Bull grunted.  Rocky and Grim joined him.  Sera pulled back.  The door groaned on its hinges.  “We’re through,” Bull bellowed.

Beyond was darkness; there was momentary hesitation, but Sera let loose one last arrow and passed through, swearing the whole way.  Maranda followed.  Her hand flickered and then glowed with a weak magelight.  Valta and Rocky, then Stitches and Grim went next, leaving Theo with Bull, Renn, and Fianna.  

The Warden Commander; the Queen of Ferelden; Fianna Cousland turned to stare at Theo, Bull, and Renn.  “I can divert them,” she said quietly.  “Throw them off the trail.”

“Will they follow you?” Bull asked.  Theo resisted the urge to protest; Bull had done this for him once before when the odds seemed hopeless, back at Haven when Corypheus attacked.  He’d been a realist, and Theo, in his grim determination, had appreciated the way Bull didn’t… well, bullshit.  He saw that same grim determination on Fianna’s face now: the knowledge of being outnumbered, but also knowing there was some preternatural luck that would defy the odds.

“Yes,” she said, her certainty solid as the stone.  “Darkspawn hate Wardens.”

“So this is it, then.”  Theo was suddenly overwhelmed.  “What about darkspawn beyond this?”

“The glyph was lightning.  Whoever cast it used the spells almost guaranteed to keep darkspawn out.  Whatever you’re searching for, you probably won’t find darkspawn,” Fianna told him.  “I’ll find my way through here and lead them off your trail.”

“Next time you’re in Kirkwall you’re buying,” Bull said gruffly.  He dropped a big hand on her shoulder and squeezed once before telling her something in Qunlat.  She replied in Qunlat, and Bull’s eye went wide and he laughed.  “Cookies?  No shit.”  

“It’s been an honor, Warden,” Renn said, and turned away.

“In the end it’s not the darkspawn that will destroy us,” she told Theo.  “Stop them.” She met his eyes one last time before taking off down the corridor.  Bull grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him through the doorway, before passing through himself and closing the door behind them.

The crystal around his neck buzzed against his sticky, sweaty skin.

They faced endless darkness.  Maranda held up her hand once more, and in the wan light she managed to produce, he spotted a lift: relatively newly built, and not of dwarven design.

The only way forward was down into the abyss.


	19. Ghosts in the Senate

#  Chapter 19: Ghosts in the Senate

“Dorian, did you hear me?”  Maevaris tapped her toe against the marble floor and he looked up. “You’re on the floor today.”

They’d been given the go-ahead to present their bill regarding subsidized Laetan Circle training.  Lucrezia opened yesterday’s proceedings, and today Dorian would take the floor for the first time fielding questions about the budgets.  “I remember,” he told Mae as he gathered pages into a leather folio that matched his boots, belts, and the leather accents on his robes.  “Rather difficult to forget,” he added.

“It’s our first major step-- one might almost call it a victory.”  

He sighed.  “I know, and I’m sorry.  I’ve been a bit distracted by our other side project.”

“That’s secondary for now.  Besides, depending on what comes from this budget hearing, we might have some hints that connect the two.”  

Mae was right, but sometimes he wondered if she only sort of believed just how badly this Storm Coast thing could go.  He’d learned early on, studying under Alexius and attending Magisterium debates with Felix, that Tevinter law-making and policy was nothing more than arguing about how to pay for things.  If you wanted to know what someone was truly up to, follow the money.

He’d spent the last weeks researching the military budget.  Since Lucrezia’s brother, Hector, had enlisted, he’d promised her that he’d make sure it was for a good reason.  She’d thanked him profusely.  “Really, Lu, the best thanks will be you learning to untangle these numbers yourself,” he’d told her with a smile, and only half joking as he tried to make sense of the strings of numbers and names.

Everything did seem in order on that end, which made his propositions trickier.  He hoped that his experiences curtailing a Qunari invasion a few months ago would give him the clout he needed.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Mae asked once more before they left his office.

“It’s been almost two days.”  Dorian avoided touching the crystal.  “We agreed that, if he didn’t respond it was because…”  He swallowed and took a deep, steadying breath.  He tried to ignore the violet spirits flitting at the edges of his vision, stirred up by his unease.  At least the demons were too busy with the rest of the Magisterium to bother much with him just yet.

“You said yourself you didn’t know the range of the crystal.”  Mae rested her hand on his arm.  

“And maybe they met up with those bastards cutting peoples’ tongues out and leaving them for the darkspawn,” Dorian snapped.  He exhaled slowly, trying to let the tension out.  There were so many things to worry about. He hovered on the edge of an abyss; one wrong step and he’d plummet downward.  “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged one shoulder.  Her deep blue robes slipped just a bit and she readjusted them.  “Ideally a well-deserved outburst in private will prevent it from occurring in public.  I know you’re worried.  Let’s get through this and then you can worry some more.”  She did give him a kind smile, and he did see the worry flitting through her gaze like ghosts, but the rest of her demeanor was solid.

He’d put on the invisible mask before; he would wear it again.  Trust had always been a difficult thing for Dorian.  He’d grown up learning not to trust anyone but himself-- even his family was off-limits, especially after what his father had tried to do.  He’d only ever trusted himself.  Now he had to trust Theo to survive (yet again) and trust that Maevaris knew what she was doing.  He also had to trust himself not to fold in front of a hundred or more people who not only expected him to, but  _ wanted _ him to do so.

The walk to the Magisterium felt longer today.  The folio of documents felt heavier.  The dryness in his mouth reminded him of the barren Western Approach.  Anything that lived there was either desperate or hardened to survive no matter the cost.  Not much different than the inhabitants of Tevinter, really.  The thought made him chuckle (a bit nervously, to be honest), and Mae glanced over at him.  Dorian shook his head and stood up straighter as they neared the doors of the Magisterium.

Minrathous had been hot and bustling and loud, but the moment he crossed the threshold of the most important building in the capital city, it was cool and quiet.  Some could mistake it for peaceful, or an academic reverence for the system of law; Dorian knew it was a fearful silence.  An angry one.  No one wanted to say much, lest they reveal much.  No one wanted to say anything, lest they offend someone in some way.  People brokered deals in glances and glares.

Dorian sauntered through the lobby, ignoring the frosty looks shot his way.  He entered the amphitheater-styled main chamber.  The section reserved for the Publicanium was already filled; the hearings were supposed to begin in a quarter of an hour.  Less than half the Magisters’ seats were filled.  It was hard to care about being on time when you had nothing to lose, Dorian thought.

He and Mae joined Lucrezia and the other Lucerni party members.  “Did you manage to speak with Carduelis?” Mae asked Marcus Philius.  “I tried, but he’s been avoiding me.”

Marcus Philius stroked his beard.  “Only a bit in passing.  None of the other Publicans were forthcoming either.”

Mae swore under her breath.  

“I take it things may have gotten a bit more complicated over our recess?” Dorian asked.

Lucrezia drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair.  “They’re planning something and don’t wish to have Magisterial influence.  Even the influence of well-meaning sorts like us.”

“Carduelis told you this?”

“Carduelis used to be friends with my family.  He tried to convince my father to run for Senate, and when Father wouldn’t, Atticus seemed thrilled that I ended up in a position to join.”  She stared across the chambers.  “He hasn’t been coming around at all anymore.  Hector had started delivering his orders before he enlisted.  Hector never minded, the Cardeulis daughters are absolutely beautiful.”  She smiled a bit sadly.  “But I could tell it bothered Father.”

“Yet another thing to add to our ever-growing list,” Mae said as more Magisters filed in.  She straightened up suddenly.

Dorian followed her gaze and his stomach dropped.  Archon Radonis descended the steps, his heavy robes trailing behind him, though it appeared that a simple spirit of some sort helped bear up some of the weight of his deep green velvet train.  The high, heavy headdress he wore had to be supported by some sort of structure underneath, but in true Tevinter fashion Radonis didn’t show any discomfort.  He was probably used to it by now.

But everyone else in the room was definitely  _ not _ used to it.  The Archon rarely joined the senatorial proceedings. When he did, there was either a critical issue to be decided, and they all knew to expect him; or he meant to address the assembly near a holiday.  Dorian could count on one hand the number of times any Archon had graced the Senate in the times he’d been in chambers.

Radonis took his seat in a gallery box close to the floor, and a pair of servants arranged his garments once he’d sat in his high-backed chair: the better to support his massive headdress, Dorian thought idly, because thinking about what it meant, that the Archon would be listening to his very first address to the combined Senate, made him ill.  There was a time, many years ago, when it had been posited that Dorian himself had the potential to be the next Archon; the thought had been slightly tempting, but stifling by the same token.  He didn’t like the idea of being confined to offices, or constantly watching his back… or of a ridiculous headpiece obscuring or detracting from his best features.  Yes, it was vain, but not without reason.

Decius Primus stood and called the room to order, casting a charm to make his voice audible over the thrum of gossip.  “Magisters.  Publicans.  I, Decius Primus do hereby call to order this session of the full Senate of the Tevinter Imperium, and extend a gracious welcome to his honor, Archon Radonis.”

The full assembly stood, even the Publicans.  By their very nature the Publicanium contained no mages; they were all powerful soporati.  But magic ruled in Tevinter, whether you were a mage or not.

Decius Primus read the agenda aloud and Dorian took a deep breath when he heard he was first.  It made sense, he told himself; yesterday had ended with Lucrezia’s proposition, today would begin with the budgets associated.  “Magister Dorian Pavus, the floor is yours,” Primus said, taking his seat in the front row, a few seats down from the Archon.

Dorian descended from his own seat several rows back.  He could handle the eyes on him.  He could handle the whispers and gossip.  He could even handle Radonis watching him, tapping his chin ever so lightly.  He couldn’t handle the ghost of his father watching him as he strode down, ready to undo everything Halward had stood for.  It should have been the most exciting moment of his burgeoning political career.  Instead Halward’s ghost hovered over him, floated around and through him, whispering what a failure and a disappointment he was.  

Then an even worse thought: perhaps Radonis had decided to grace them with his presence  _ because _ he knew Dorian was presenting today.

He took his place at the podium; a simple spirit circled the podium, increasing the volume for the speaker.  Dorian’s own spirits hovered nearby, and even though they were spirits of death and sadness, they had a strange way of comforting him.  “Magisters.  Publicans.  I thank you for your time,” he began.  “Yesterday my colleague, Magister Aureos, proposed universal education for all Tevinters talented in the ways of magic, regardless of familial lineage.”  He looked up and gave everyone a dazzling grin.  

The numbers were there, and evident, and it was easy to rattle them off, pausing for the occasional acknowledgement of his audience.  The subject matter was dull, and he noted with satisfaction that several Magisters started to nod off.  Interestingly enough most of the Publicans leaned forward, listening to what he had to say.  He caught sight of Atticus Carduelis leaning forward with his elbows on the railing, fingers steepled before his thin face.

Dorian spoke the numbers he’d researched and calculated.  He’d purposely estimated on the low side in the hopes that it would improve their chances of at least being considered.  This whole thing was a long shot.  He hadn’t figured  _ just  _ how long, however.

“Scribes have made copies of this proposed budgetary plan that will be available in the Archives,” he finished.  Then he took a deep breath and braced himself before asking, “Any questions?”

At first he only heard murmurs and yawns that followed the initial presentation.  Dorian rooted himself to the spot, ignoring the temptation to run away.  Idly he thought about how Halward had stood here, proposing things that would keep everyone comfortable and maintain the status quo, and he smiled.

Then the questions started.

“Magister Pavus,” said Proculus Commodus, “what you propose… would require a great deal of funding.  Which, to your credit, you realize.  However, are you prepared to increase the taxes beyond what they are already, in order for this to become a reality?”

“No,” Dorian said, slightly annoyed.  He shouldn’t have been surprised that Commodus all but slept through his presentation, since he’d done the same whenever Commodus was speaking.  “I propose reallocating funds.”

“With the Qunari threat as it is?  How would we pay the commissions for our soldiers fighting for the safety and glory of the Imperium?”  Augustus Virnius, the chair of the military finance committee stood in his place.  “You of all people know what we face, Pavus.”

Dorian pasted on his smile.  “I do.  And I am also confident that the Qunari threat makes a convenient scapegoat for us to sit back and wallow in complacency.”

The Senate erupted.  Again, not surprising, though not entirely pleasant to be at the center of it.  Suddenly Radonis shifted in his seat and stood up, turning slowly to face the whole assembly.  He just stood and stared, and kept staring until the roar died down; then he took his seat once more, and gestured for Dorian to continue.

Dorian swallowed and hoped his voice wouldn’t crack.  “Thank you, Archon.  Yes, I know what we face,” he repeated.  “While the sect led by the Qunari called the Viddasala was denounced by the Arishok on Par Vollen, it doesn’t change the fact that the Darvaarad fortress remained standing, and that there are Quanari researching magic.  The research I found pointed toward them calculating the possibilities of creating eluvians--Elven portals--of their own.  While the Viddasala may have been out of line, other Qunari may have been reassigned to her position.”  He took a deep breath to calm himself. He’d never forgotten just how awful that venture was: Theo delirious with the pain of his mark; the pitiful dragon Ataashi, being milked for her venom; the explosions and the way Theo had to use his mark to defend himself from both the Qunari and the mark itself.

“If we put our resources into educating those gifted in the ways of magic, we stand a better chance of withstanding the Qunari if they outpace us with their research.”  It was a fear he hadn’t really stated to anyone, not even Maevaris, but somehow it felt right telling the entire Senate all at once.

The Senate erupted once more, and this time Dorian just returned to his seat and let everyone argue around him.  Rarely were things decided right after a presentation; the vote would be called for a later time.

“You did well,” Lucrezia told him, not even needing to whisper; everyone else around them was so loud.  

“Nice twist at the end there,” Maevaris told him.  She alone seemed relaxed, but she’d been part of this far longer than any of them.  “It will definitely help.  If there’s one thing they all fear more than losing money, it’s the Qunari.”

Now that it was over Dorian felt boneless and exhausted.  He did manage to smile when he thought about his father; if Halward had heard him, if Halward could know just what Dorian knew… if Halward had had the Archon present to, literally, stand up for him…

Other matters came to the floor, but Dorian hardly heard them.  A vote was called regarding repairs to the Chantry: approved.  A vote to raise prices on imports: denied, as no one wanted to spend more money to get their foreign curiosities.  Dorian passed through these in a daze, feeling like a ghost himself, there but not quite.  Later on, if he’d been asked, he couldn’t remember anything about this day besides his presentation, and what happened next.

Atticus Carduelis, head of the Publicanium, took the floor.  Silence descended.  “Esteemed colleagues of the Senate,” he stated, looking around.  Dorian realized he’d never really heard Carduelis address them all before.  Rarely did the Publicanium even meet with the Magisterium.  “It is clear, particularly from Magister Pavus and Magister Aureos’s impassioned beliefs shared over these last few days, that the Tevinter Imperium is still a land of magic, where magic reigns supreme.”  He stared at Archon Radonis as he said this, and Dorian felt a strange tingle in his stomach, as if what was about to happen was his fault, even though it was probably just coincidentally bad timing.  “The laws the Magisterium legislates without the Publicanium affect all, mage and soporati alike.”  He sort of smiled, as if he wasn’t sure if he was sad or gleeful about what he was about to say.  “I, Atticus Carduelis hereby abdicate my role in the Publicanium, and advise other Publicans to do the same.”

With that, he turned and walked out the doors behind him.

Dorian expected another explosion of sound, but all he heard was silence.


	20. Here Lies the Abyss

#  Chapter 20: Here Lies the Abyss

There were older and fouler things than darkspawn in the deep places beneath the surface, in the places below the Deep Roads, where not even dwarves dwelt.  There were things hungrier than deepstalkers.  There were things wilder and more ancient than the brontos the dwarves had tamed.  And there were dwarves that were not quite dwarves, and yet at the same time were more dwarven than Theo had ever seen.  It was those that killed Renn, before withdrawing into the deep darkness of their home.

They wore heavy armor made of a lyrium so pure it left Maranda dizzy.  The armor itself bonded to their skin and would not come off, regardless of how Bull hacked and tugged and pulled, while Valta gave Renn proper dwarven funeral rites.  “He was too good for this,” she said when she returned.  Her voice trembled.  “He was a cobbler, and a good one.  All he wanted was to make and mend shoes, but his father’s debt forced him into the Legion.  All so his mother could retain her caste.”  Valta sniffled.  “He never thought about himself.”

Theo could have told her that Renn knew the risks.  But Fianna had too, and he’d known the risks of falling in love with Dorian and had done it anyway.  That was the thing with risks: even when you knew it was dangerous, sometimes you just couldn’t stay away from the edge, and sometimes the edge came for you.

They trudged forward.  Valta found puzzling dwarven runes carved into the rock walls, lit with lyrium.  She squinted and murmured under her breath and Theo heard the words “Sha-Brytol”.  

“So… they’re like dwarfier dwarves, yeah?” Sera asked, her face pale in the bluish light of the lyrium.  “The way them Dalish aren’t just elves, they’re…  _ elves. _  Elfy elves.”

“But what are they doing down here, below the Deep Roads?” Rocky had been a surface dwarf, but he knew enough dwarven history to get by when needed.  Sometimes Theo even forgot he was a dwarf, much like with Varric.

“They predate the fall of the dwarven empire,” Valta said, brow furrowed as she stared at the inscriptions.  “But how they’ve survived…if they’re even the original ones, down here, how could they have lasted?”

“The lyrium is powerful,” Maranda suggested.  “Not that I’ve come in contact with it very much; but for my Harrowing I had to take lyrium and just that knocked me out.  Whatever they have in their armor?  Or what’s around us?  Just being near it is close to setting me off.”

“Creatures subsisting on lyrium alone?” Bull asked.

“The red templar behemoths we dealt with weren’t exactly sitting down for supper,” Theo pointed out.  “I know that red lyrium is a little different, but it would seem that this strain here is different as well.  Though maybe not quite as virulent as the red?”

“It’s…” Valta’s hand hovered over the runes.  “Pure.  This says the Sha-Brytol are pure because…” She murmured in dwarven again.  “They protect the pure.”  She looked up.  “They must protect the titan!  We’re getting close.”

Theo wasn’t exactly comforted by Valta’s proclamation.  But it seemed that her search for the titan and why it was behind the earthquakes was connected to his search for answers to send to Dorian.  He had so much to tell Dorian now, but didn’t know what time it was on the surface, and feared activating the sending crystal lest it go off at a time that would be bad for Dorian.  He just had to hope the crystal worked this deep, below even the Deep Roads.  It occurred to him that, once again, he was one of the first people to set foot in an uncharted realm in literal ages.  Varric would have a field day with this one; he could write a sequel titled “This Shit Is Still Weird.”

“Why are you laughing?” Sera narrowed her eyes at him.  “Not exactly funny down here.”

“I realized not long ago that I just have to laugh,” Theo explained.  “If you don’t laugh about it you’ll just cry.”

They moved forward, Valta in the lead this time.  The Sha-Brytol presence scared off the darkspawn.  However, the Sha-Brytol themselves were formidable enemies, and they fought off occasional pockets as they went through the darkness.  The thin and spidery veins of bright lyrium provided eerie lighting, and the presence of so much all around them leeched into Maranda; she fired off spell after powerful storm spell at the Sha-Brytol.  

The tunnels began to widen, and a faint blue glow shone ahead.  As they moved Theo heard a sound rather like that of the ocean lapping at the shore.  He knew they had entered from the Storm Coast, but were they still there?  Just how far had they gone?

The tunnel opened up into a vast cavern, larger than the ruins of Heidrun Thaig, and brilliantly lit with bright blue lyrium.  “Shit.” Bull swung his axe down to lean on it as he took in what he saw.  “Even with two eyes I wouldn’t believe this.”

“You probably wouldn’t,” Sera confirmed.

Theo had seen ancient elven ruins lost to time and memory.  He’d walked through the Fade, bodily, twice. He’d seen places no one believed existed.  And yet he still had trouble understanding just what he viewed.

High black stone pillars jutted up out of the ground, with a worn stone pathway underfoot.  The ocean sound came from just that: an ocean, as far as his eyes could see, fading into the lyrium-blue haze.  Stone caves had been carved out at different levels along the ‘shore’.  Somewhere above him was the very bottom of the Waking Sea, and right in front of and below him was this ocean.

He heard a cry: not darkspawn, not deepstalker or the strange prehistoric-Bronto creatures, not even the warcry of a Sha-Brytol: human, and  _ close _ .  It sounded again and Theo looked all around for the source, but saw nothing.  Then the cavern gave a mighty shake as another earthquake began.  “Pull back,” Theo called, ducking back into the opening of the tunnel they’d just come through.  The group backed into the tunnel and braced themselves against the walls.  Theo closed his eyes and tried to just ride out the way the earth shook and undulated all around him.  It was one thing to be on the surface when an earthquake happened.  But to be in the heart of it terrified him.

“The Stone is angry,” Valta said as the quake subsided.  “And… sad?”

“You can feel what the rocks are thinking?” Cardenio asked, head cocked to the side.

“The Stone,” Valta corrected.  “It’s very strange down here.  It’s more alive than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Is it angry at us, is the important question,” Sera told her.

“I can’t tell.”

“Maybe it’s angry with those bastards dragging slaves down here,” Maranda suggested.  “We just happened to get caught in the crossfire.”

Bull looked out into the cavern thoughtfully.  “We can’t take on the entirety of these Sha-Brytol,” he said at last.  “Theo.  You came to get information to Dorian.  You’re quick and you’re quiet.  Sera, you’ve got good eyes and you’re light on your feet.  Same with you, Cardenio.  You three, head out, see what you can find out, and report back.”

Theo nodded and shrugged off his pack which had, he realized, gotten lighter.  He set down his bow and quiver and then went about unfastening the straps holding the false arm in place.  “What are you doing?” Maranda asked.  

“I’ll go faster without it swinging around,” he told her as he worked the attachments.  The arm came off.  He checked his belts and the right ankle sheaths.  Then he dug in his pack and found a few glass vials with various substances in them, which he carefully slipped into small pockets inside his coat.  “Don’t give me that look,” he told his sister.  “We’re just getting in and out as quickly as we can.”

Maranda pressed her lips into a thin line.  “I’m not sure who taught you to lie, but they didn’t do a very good job.”

“I did my best with what I had to work with,” Bull told her.

“Lying all the time is too tiring.”  Theo made one last check on the accessibility of his knives.  “For me, that is,” he added with a nod toward Bull.  He knew that Bull’s Qunari name, Hissrad, literally meant “liar”.  Theo had tried to learn what he could from Bull, and from any number of politicians during the Inquisition, but he just hadn’t been made to lie, and he found secrets, agendas, and intrigues to be exhausting.  Maybe that was another benefit of being through as Inquisitor.

“Keep an eye on him if you can,” Bull ordered Cardenio, rather than argue with Theo.  “I like this one.  Also, I think his husband would hunt me down and blast my ass if I got him killed.”

“Dorian will kill Bull, and I’ll kill you,” Maranda told Cardenio, but she managed a smile.  “After I ask Dorian to do some fancy Necromancy to bring Theo back, so I can yell at him.”

“Your family and friends think highly of you.” Cardenio kept his voice low as they headed out into the cavern, keeping close to the walls and away from the rolling ocean.

“Bull likes you.  My sister seems to like you well enough, too.”

“She wants to kick his arse with magic,” Sera interjected.  “Not sure I’d call that ‘well enough’, myself.”

It helped dispel the nerves.  Sera scouted ahead, moving light and silent.  The constant whisper of the ocean helped cover some of the sound they made.  The path was smooth, but occasional rough patches of dirt and pebbles slipped underfoot.  The sound was always louder to Theo, and he stopped to listen, hand on the hilt of the hunting knife at his hip.  His left hand tingled.   _ How would the mark have reacted to all this lyrium? _ He wondered.

Up ahead Sera held up a hand, and Theo and Cardenio paused.  She then waved them closer to her.  She crouched in front of one of the caves.  Inside, bright blue lyrium veins illuminated three humans: dirty, thin, moving slowly and wearily, but not daring to stop hacking at the stone with ragged mining tools.

One of the people leaned their head on the rock.  “You!  Back to work,” snapped a man who came through a back entrance.  The person couldn’t even look up.  The man pulled out a short whip and flicked it at the miner.  It was all Theo could do to hold himself back, since Cardenio was holding Sera.

The miner shook his head and moaned.  He was beyond words, and even if he hadn’t been Theo knew his tongue had been cut out.  The miner sank to his knees and no amount of whipping could get him back up.  The slaver sighed.  “Take note, the rest of you,” he said and hauled the miner up by the arm.  “You signed on for the glory of the Imperium.  Note what happens to those who fail.”  

The miner tried to struggle and Theo’s heart caught in his throat as the slaver dragged him out of the mining cave and onto the path.  Cardenio, Sera, and Theo clung to the wall in terrified silence as the slaver walked to the sheer drop off the edge of the path and shoved the fallen miner over.

“Fuck that.” Sera tore herself away from Cardenio.  The slaver spun around just in time to see Sera’s foot coming at him.  Her kick caught him in the abdomen and he stumbled back.  He teetered on the edge.  “The Imperium’s glory can go fuck itself,” Sera told him, and shoved him backward.  The man grabbed for her hands, and Cardenio pulled her back just as the slaver went over, screaming.

The earth rumbled.  Theo dove into the mining cave as another earthquake began to shake them.  The remaining two miners huddled together, hands over their heads, until the quake passed.  Finally the tremors stopped.  “It’s over, yeah?” Sera told the nearest, her voice kinder.  “Sorry ‘bout your friend.  It’s a shite way to go.  There more of them big guys?”

The man nodded, but couldn’t quite look up at Sera.  Theo knew the expression well: shame.  His left arm itched.  “Just show me how many more?” he asked. “We’re not with them.”  That wary stare bored into Theo and he had no way of proving that he wasn’t lying.  “Are you from Tevinter?” he asked instead.  Another nod.  “I have a friend in Tevinter.”  Sera snorted.  “He’s hoping to discover who’s behind this and stop it.”

The other remaining miner made a noise somewhere between clearing his throat and hacking up his lungs.  Sera made a face.  Theo kept his face as straight as he could.  These poor people were in rough enough shape.  The miner held up five fingers.  His hands were stained with glowing blue lyrium.

“We can take five slavers,” Cardenio murmured, and Sera nodded.  She kept giving Theo a look that made him uncomfortable.  He didn’t think Sera liked him much to begin with, but the expression she had was almost one of disgust.  

“Do you know how many of you there are?” Theo asked, even as he thought about the odds.  The miner shook his head.  This could complicate things.  “Will you come with us if we can offer you some safety?”  They both nodded.

Theo led the way back down the slope toward their tunnel.  He couldn’t resist taking a look over the edge of the path to the rolling waves below.  The two bodies floated on the water, bumping against one of the stone pillars.  “Shit,” he said suddenly, looking up.  He felt sick as the pieces slowly clicked into place in his mind.  The walk back to the entry tunnel felt longer, even though it was just the anticipation of needing to spill what he’d discovered.

“Back so soon?” Bull asked when they came into view of his watch.  Then the Qunari straightened up more when he saw the two miners.  He swore in Qunlat.  “What happened?  We felt another quake; don’t tell me  _ you _ caused that?” he asked with a suspicious look at Theo.

“No.”  The others joined him.  Maranda and Stitches started seeing to the miners and gave them what potable water they had.  “Sera did.  Inadvertently,” he added hastily.  “When a slave dies or does something they don’t like, the overseers just dispose of them over the edge.  If this is a titan, and if lyrium is its blood…” he looked out over the ocean.  

Valta nodded.  “The ocean isn’t the same as your ocean.  I got close enough to it to know there’s something… different about it.  Perhaps it flows into the Stone.  It becomes what we know as lyrium ore.”  Then she blinked.  “They’re disposing of the dead in the blood of the titan?   _ That’s  _ what’s causing the earthquakes.”

“Last I checked there was still a pretty damned good deal going on between the dwarves and the Imperium when it came to lyrium supply,” Bull said after a moment of tense silence.  “Who the fuck in Tevinter knew about this sort of lyrium in the backwater Storm Coast?  And what the fuck are they planning to do with it…”  He dropped his voice so only Theo and Cardenio, who was nearby, could hear.  “And why the fuck don’t they want people talking about it?”

“He said something about them having signed on for the glory of the Imperium,” Cardenio said.  “They don’t look like they knew quite what they were getting into.”

“Did Dorian say what he knows?”

Theo shook his head.  “We haven’t been in contact recently.  I’m guessing now, especially down here, around this level of lyrium, it’s throwing off the crystal.  But whatever this whole operation is, it’s bigger than we thought.”  Already a plan coalesced in his mind, like frost on a cold windowpane: first one angle, then another joined, and another and soon he’d worked out the pattern of a plan.  No one was going to like it, and he may very well have been going into it alone.  But it was the right thing to do.

“I can see the nugs running around your brain when you get that look, you know,” Bull said at last.  “Out with it.”

Theo sighed, then gestured for Bull, Cardenio, and Maranda to follow him to a space a short way from their makeshift camp.  He told them his plan.  Maranda shook her head and looked like she was about to slap him.  “I’m going with you,” Cardenio told him.  “Only you would come up with this sort of thing,” Bull told him.

“So it’s settled?” Theo asked, staring out at the ocean rather than at anyone else.  If he looked at them, he might see something that convinced him to abandon his idea.

“There’s never any stopping you when you set your mind to something-- especially if it’s a nug-brained idea that’s going to get you killed,” Bull said, but he sounded almost cheerful.  Theo turned and met Bull’s eye.  “Yes, Boss, that’s my way of saying it’s fucking settled.”  Theo let out his breath.  

“Like anyone could stop you, even if they wanted to,” Cardenio added quietly, and Maranda nodded her agreement.

Theo tried to smile, but he knew they were right. He also knew he had to do this.


	21. Freed Are the Slaves

#  Chapter 21: Freed Are the Slaves

One of the slaver overseers had gone over the edge and into the abyss, leaving four to search out in the vast lyrium mine.  The intensity of this raw lyrium started to make Theo feel a little lightheaded, and he was neither a mage nor a templar.  No wonder the mining slaves they came across, far fewer than he’d expected, were so gaunt.  Some were near the point of madness, and one, Cardenio gave a swift death and a prayer.

“Fuckin’ blue stuff.  I’m sick of this shit.”  Sera held up her hand when they overheard two of the slavers talking.  She and Theo paused outside of a cavern that was clearer of lyrium than the others.

“Hey, could be the red.  Remember the guys trying to get their hands on that a few years back?  Remember what it did to them?”  The other one chuckled.  “This pays better,  _ and _ we’re not getting infected just by being close to it.”

“I dunno. Did you see that last guy Salvador dragged out?  Fucking hands were glowing blue.  Fucker coughed and I swear to the Maker blue dust came out.  Or it was blood and his blood was blue and glowy by then.”  He laughed.

“I’ve had e-fucking-nough,” Sera announced and walked right into the cavern, an arrow nocked and fired off into the throat of one of the men before they even realized she’d come through.

The second man stared dumbly at his fallen comrade, who clutched at the arrow sprouting from his throat as he choked on his own blood.  “You want that one?” Cardenio asked Theo, gesturing his knife at the remaining man.

Theo didn’t have time to think; the man took one look at Theo’s left side, and in spite of his shock at seeing his friend fall, grinned and pulled out two blades.  Theo wasn’t a killer by nature; he’d done more than enough killing to last a lifetime while he was the Inquisitor.  But man transported slaves and tossed their bodies into a lyrium sea, then laughed about it.  

Theo didn’t go for his knife, not right away.  He let the man come at his left side, then spun out of the way.  As he did he went for the blade he kept at his hip.  Of course that was the expected move, but the man didn’t expect Theo to drop his knife, reach into his coat, and drop a smoke bomb.  Theo rolled out of the way, pulled the smaller knife from his boot holster; then he held his breath, rolled back toward the man and the cloud of smoke.  He came to his feet and spun around and jabbed the knife into the heart of the cloud.

He then stepped back with his left foot, pivoting just slightly so his left shoulder could avoid the stab he knew was coming.  He released the smaller knife; it didn’t clatter to the ground, which was a good sign.  He hopped back and ducked to pick up his larger blade.  His heart thudded and he kept his eyes open, even though the smoke made them water.  

“I’m… cutting out your tongue… and sending it to Celares,” the man said, voice hoarse from the smoke.  

“What’s your name?” Theo asked him, staying back, but still giving himself a way out if he needed it.

“Hostus.  Hostus Sylvius.”

“I’ll tell Celares you say hello.”  Theo lunged forward and buried his knife deep in Hostus’s gut.  It was a deep wound.  It would take him a long time to bleed out, and after all he’d seen, Theo wasn’t keen on giving Hostus or any of his companions a quick death.  “Too bad there are no darkspawn down this far to end it for you.” Theo pulled out his knives and wiped the blood off on Hostus’s jacket.

“Doesn’t.  Matter… Celares will…  he can do anything.  He’s patient.”

“I was the Inquisitor.  I’m impatient.”  Theo sheathed his knifes; he’d clean the blades properly when they got out.  He began to shuffle through the papers littered on the makeshift table.  He stuffed whatever he could find into a burlap sack Hostus and his companion had left lying on the ground.  He’d read them later.  Right now anything he could find came with him.  He didn’t want to be underground any longer than he had to.

Suddenly Hostus shrieked and it was cut off into a gurgle.  Theo spun around to see Cardenio standing over the body.  Hostus had rolled over and hauled himself within inches of Theo.  “Good fight, but it wasn’t over,” Cardenio said, with a note of disapproval.

“They never are.”  Theo went back to digging, and found a chest.  Of course it was locked, and of course it was too heavy for him to pick up, especially one-handed and especially if they were trying to do this as quickly as possible.  “Watch the door?” he asked Cardenio, who nodded.  Theo pulled out his lockpicks and got to work on the chest.  It wasn’t magically warded; these were no mages, just people--what was Dorian’s word? Soporati? Trying to make it in that society.  But the door from the Deep Roads to here had been magically locked… 

It was harder springing a lock with one hand, but Theo had spent time practicing, out of sheer boredom, on the way from Halamshiral to Ostwick so many months ago; and then whenever he could.  The chest contained more papers, which Theo stowed away.  There was a leather billfold and a pouch of jangling coins.  Theo took it all, leaving the chest empty next to the two dead bodies.

He and Cardenio headed up toward the next mining shaft, where Bull had finished off another slaver.  Four more mining slaves trailed behind him, wary of following a Qunari, but Theo figured that anything was better than what they’d come from.  And then, Bull turned around and held up a dwarf with an elegantly plaited beard and mustache.  “Not telling you  _ shit _ , oxman,” he snarled.

“You don’t have to tell me shit,” the Iron Bull told him.  “But you’ll want to once I get started asking you questions.”  He smiled, and the scars on his face looked deeper in the shadows cast by the pure lyrium.  “First one, is there a way back up that doesn’t include backtracking through the darkspawn?”

* * *

 

In the end there were about a dozen slaves that managed to stumble along with them.  The earthquakes stopped, and the Sha-Brytol did not attack, though Theo felt their lyrium-blue eyes burning into him through the darkness.  Valta elected to remain behind.  “Orzammar will want to know what happened to its Shaper,” Theo said, holding back a sigh; he didn’t want to deal with yet another political mess, when he was pretty sure he was about to get deeper into this one than he’d ever intended.

“Tell them the truth: you don’t know,” Valta said simply.  “Thank you, Former Inquisitor.  For helping calm the Stone.”

Theo stepped onto the lift that would take them back up into Heidrun Thaig.  “I don’t know how much I actually  _ did _ , but you’re welcome.  You’ll be alright here?”

Valta smiled and breathed deep.  “I feel the Stone around me in a way I’ve never felt before.  I am… at peace here.”

The lift creaked up and Valta disappeared into the darkness.

Theo didn’t know how they’d manage to make it through Heidrun Thaig without a Warden or Legionnaire guiding them, but when they reached the massive doors silence greeted them.  It was as if the Thaig had been cleared of darkspawn, in some strange way Theo wouldn’t, or couldn’t understand.  He didn’t know what he believed these days, but he thought a silent prayer for Fianna-- wherever she was, and how she’d bought them time, and perhaps even had found other Wardens who’d helped clear their way back.

They paused to rest at the small, icy spring right before the way up to the Darkspawn Warrens.  Theo hadn’t realized just how exhausted he was, until he cleaned up some and started to look through some of the papers he’d pilfered.  The letters swam before his eyes and eventually he gave up.

Two of the miners died that night.

Theo’s crystal did not buzz.  He did not try contacting Dorian; he didn’t know what to say.  He’d found out what was causing the earthquakes and how it connected to Tevinter, but he had the squirming feeling in his gut that this was just the start of something bigger.  Something far worse.  Like how he’d felt after closing the first Breach.  He stared at the stump at the end of his left arm.  He’d only taken on Corypheus because of the power of his mark, a power he’d come by accidentally.  He would have to ask Dorian if he knew who Celares was.

The Legion of the Dead basecamp was empty when they made it up from the warrens, which also remained clear.  “Sounds like Varric’s waiting for us at an old Inquisition outpost on the Storm Coast,” Bull said, holding up an old book.

“Varric?” their prisoner asked.  “Varric Tethras?”  He started laughing.  “You’re working for  _ Tethras _ ?”  Suddenly he looked between Bull and Theo, and his eyes remained on Theo.  “You were the Inquisitor.  You were fucking that Magister’s son!”  

At any other time Theo would have been embarrassed, but he was filthier than he’d ever been in his life; and he’d seen worse things than he had even during the Inquisition.  “Yes.  I was the Inquisitor, and yes, I did fuck him, and now he’s a Magister himself who’s going to be very interested to know what some of his countrymen were up to here.”

“You don’t have anything,” the dwarf snapped.

“Celares?”  Theo asked him.  “I think it’s a good place to start.”

“You have nothing, you one-armed mage-fucker.”

“Yes.  Yes I am,” Theo said with a tired shrug, and headed for the final lift that would take him out of the Deep Roads.  He never wanted to go back.

* * *

  
  


Theo emerged from the fissure in the Storm Coast, shielding his eyes from the brilliant orange and pink sunset, and gulping down fresh, cool, damp Storm Coast air.  He all but fell into the river, face turned skyward, delirious with relief.  But they had to keep moving, and Bull turned over Varric’s letter to see a map from the fissure location to the outpost.  It wasn’t terribly far, and after the march through the endless gloom it seemed that this last leg of the journey was almost bearable.  

In the waning light of day, though, Theo saw what the dark of the underground had concealed.  The slaves they’d rescued were gaunt, many with festering injuries in spite of how Stitches and Maranda had tried to help.  Another man collapsed as they went on.  Sera tried to help him up, but he shook his head and pointed to Cardenio.  When Cardenio approached, he reached up toward the knife at his belt.  Theo turned away.

“Hey.  S’it true?” Sera asked Theo.   He glanced over at her warily.  “You really fucking a Magister?”

“Technically?” Somehow Sera asking the question was far worse, because part of him cared about what she thought.  “He wasn’t a Magister the last time we were together.  And… a lot about our relationship has changed and we need to work it out.”

“But he’s from Tevinter.  He’s from a Magister family, yeah?  And you know all this?”  Theo nodded. “And you still knock staffs with him?”  

Theo expected her to be grinning, some sort of prurient leer, but her cheeks were red and her nose wrinkled up as if he smelled bad.  That… probably wasn’t untrue.  But it wasn’t due to the lack of cleanliness in the Deep Roads.  “He’s not a slaver.  One of the people he works closely with was the one who got Varric to arrange this whole thing!”  He sighed.  “I wouldn’t have come along as part of all of this if I thought that Dorian was behind any of it.”

“It’s not about him being  _ behind _ this shite,” Sera snapped.  “It’s about him being one of them.  Them high and mighty types who look down on the little people.  If it wasn’t for the little people, where would they be?”  She spat.  “Fuck me, where would you have been without the little people?  You made all those decisions and did all those things and probably didn’t even think about all the people you were stepping on.”

“Fuck off,” Theo snapped.  “You don’t know  _ anything  _ about the decisions I had to make and what I’ve had to live with as a result.  And I don’t know a thing about how Tevinter society works, except for what my  _ husband _ told me, and what I’m trying to do to help him stop shit like this.”  His hands shook--no, his hand shook.  His left had was gone.  A decision he hadn’t made.

“Both of you shut up,” Bull snapped, stepping between the two of them.  “We’re tired.  We’re hungry, and we’ve seen some serious shit.  Move on.”

Theo gave Sera one last baleful glare before following Bull.  Cardenio fell back to speak with Sera in a low voice.   _ He doesn’t know me at all either, _ he thought.  He was very tired and very lonely.  Even having his older sister walking beside him didn’t help.  He did glance over at Maranda, who seemed haggard and sallow, her face smudged and dirty, and her dark braid tangled and matting.

They’d all seen some serious shit and all had a lot to think about before the next stage of their journey.

* * *

  
  


The Inquisition outpost overlooked the ocean, but Theo found no pleasure in the waves, not after the underground ocean he’d viewed.  He didn’t remember it being set up; probably Scout Harding’s doing.  It was supplied, and near a sheltered pool where they could take turns cleaning up.  Varric had managed to procure further supplies.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you all look like the wrong end of a nug,” Varric said in greeting.  His eyes drifted past the party to the few slaves trailing behind.  “Maker’s nuts, what happened?”

Bull and Theo took turns telling the story while some of the others wandered off in search of food, fresh water, or something resembling a bath.  The dwarf sat next to them in silence, hands bound behind his back.  “And why did you bring this one back?” Varric asked at the end of their story.

“Carta,” Bull said, and Theo was again surprised by the things Bull could deduce, while also annoyed that Bull wouldn’t have told him.  “Thought you’d know him, or might have some Carta dirt from Kirkwall you could trade with him.”

“Can’t say I know him personally, but the Carta’s a pain in Kirkwall’s ass.  Along with every other cartel and merc band.  Other than the Chargers,” Varric added.  “And seems like they’re a pain in everyone else’s ass, too.”  He focused on the prisoner.  “You got a name?”  The prisoner was silent.  “Tiny, here, he’s former Ben-Hassrath.  Don’t pretend you don’t know what they can do.”

Bull nodded to confirm, his arms crossed over his wide, barrel chest.  “I also don’t have to do it,” he said with a shrug.  “Truth is I don’t  _ like  _ interrogating people.  But if I have to…”

“Do you promise not to hurt me if I cooperate?” The dwarf eyed Bull nervously, as if being told he was Ben-Hassrath was enough to make him comply.

“I promise,” Bull said.

“Javagan.  Javagan Odic.  They call me Java.  There’s a guy.  Mage, strong one, goes by Celares.  Knew about the doors in Valammar, did some digging to find out more about things deeper down.  He had some contacts in the Orzammar Shaperate.”

“Valta?” Theo asked.

“Valta couldn’t even tweak the Memories to save her job, you think she would sell out to the Carta?” Java said with a sneer.  “Something about the fucking integrity of history.  History’s not written by the honorable.”  He glanced at Bull, trembling slightly, but Bull remained still, calm, and impassive.  “Carta didn’t want to send our people down, because that shit’s  _ strong _ .  Stronger than any lyrium I’ve seen, and I’ve been smuggling since I could walk.  Celares, he said he had a way of getting miners.  If we worked to transport the lyrium and the slaves, he’d pay the Carta handsomely when he got what he needed.”

“So some of this made it to Tevinter,” Theo guessed.  Javagan’s silence was answer enough.  “Shit.”  He rubbed his eyes.  It truly never ended.  No matter how much he’d wanted to step away, leave the saving business to everyone else, it didn’t end.  He could never have been  _ just _ the team’s Tevinter contact.

“Sure you still want to go through with your plan?” Bull asked.

“Yes.  Especially now.  Varric, think you can find a reason to pay your cousin’s widow a social call?”

“And get away from Kirkwall?  Absolutely.” Varric grinned.  “Bran will kill me, but he’s had that on his to-do list for years now.”

“You’re really going to do this?” Javagan asked.  He laughed.  “You’re all fucked.  Celares won’t even have a chance to get at you.  He’ll get his hands on you and send you all right back here, only without your tongues and without a hope.”

Bull sighed.  “I think we’re done with this one.”  As if on cue Sera and Cardenio appeared.  Sera’s chopped hair was damp and stuck out at odd angles.  “He’s yours.”

“You do the honors,” Cardenio said, stepping back.

Sera grinned.  She raised her bow.  Javagan’s eyes went wide.  “You said you wouldn’t hurt me!”

Bull nodded.  “ _ I  _ said  _ I _ wouldn’t.  Never said anything about anyone else here.”

“Fuck off, arsehole,” Sera said and let an arrow fly into Javagan’s eye.  The dwarf fell over, twitched for a moment, and then went still.

They all stood in silence for a time, broken by the wind and the faint whisper of the waves and the nearby water.  Finally Theo cleared his throat.  “So… when are we leaving?”


	22. Before the Plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3: Secrets

#  Chapter 22: Before the Plunge

Oddly enough, after Carduelis stepped down, politics in Minrathous remained normal. There was no sense that a vacuum of power needed to be filled, no concern about whether or not the Publicanium was available for a vote.  Then Dorian realized the Publicanium had been little more than a formality, a courtesy extended to those who lived in Tevinter, but weren’t truly representative of Tevinter’s heritage.  Carduelis had, at last, said what everyone thought.

The weeks passed; Dorian’s budget was shot down, which they all expected.  The Lucerni proposition was put on hold, to be discussed “after some stability returned to the Magisterium”.  Dorian would have been angry, but Decius Primus so ardently believed the truth of what he said, so Dorian pitied him more than anything.  The Magisterium stood to become far  _ more _ stable as a result of all of this.

Maevaris, however, showed far more frustration.  “Atticus has practically gone into hiding,” she confessed to Dorian one day.  “I wish he’d spoken with me.”  She fell into a chair in her sitting room.

Dorian helped himself to more tea.  He offered a cup to Maevaris, who shook her head.  “Perhaps he didn’t want to be rescued by the mages any longer?” He’d thought about that angle quite a bit.  The elves in Orlais were tired of being rescued by humans, to the point that even the Inquisition held no appeal.  He wondered if things would have been different with an elven Inquisitor.  “Without the Soporati on our side, though, wouldn’t that improve our standing?”

“Hard to say.”  Mae absently conjured a small ball of snow in her hand and bounced it off her fingertips.  Her blue eyes followed it up, then down, up, then down.  “I was hoping for the Publicanium votes.  Not many Magisters side with us, even though we’re proposing legislation that will increase the status and power of mages.”  She let the snow fall to the floor.  “Which is why Carduelis wouldn’t support us.”

“Do you think they’re organizing their own sort of rebellion?” Dorian asked quietly.

“Wealthy soporati, like the Publicans, have a lot to lose if they do.  They may outnumber us, but they don’t out-power us.”  She stood again and paced.  “Maybe he knew something.  Something that made him afraid.  If we can get someone to talk to one of his close friends, or another Publican… offer them safety…”

Dorian nodded.  “It’s an idea.”

“Any word from your Amatus?” Mae asked.

Dorian just stared into his tea.  

“I’m sorry, Dorian.”

“He’s not gone,” Dorian said after a moment.  “Theodane may have been a cat in a previous life, for how many times he’s nearly died and evaded it.  I know even cats have their final life, but…”  He absently spun his gold ring on his finger.  Already the skin beneath the band was worn smooth.  “I may retire to my place for a bit.  I’d like to get some rest before dinner this evening.”

“Tanicus again?”  Dorian grimaced.  “You know, at first I was offended that he didn’t find me interesting enough to join him, after all I’ve done,” Mae said with a pout.  “Taking down Aurelian Titus was  _ not _ a simple task.  But then I see the look on your face whenever he approaches, or whenever you receive a message from him, and I’m actually quite pleased that taking down an insane dragon cult doesn’t merit his attentions.”

“Keep gloating,” Dorian grumbled.  “It’s the Necromancy thing.  I keep trying to explain that the spirits don’t care to do parlor tricks, and if they did, it would be depressing.  But as he keeps asking me to attend, and as I have a certain image to maintain, I’ll be attending his dinner this evening.”

“Have fun?” Mae asked, and had the grace to appear sympathetic.  Dorian finished his tea and bid her farewell.

The tall buildings of the capital city cast shadows as he walked the winding streets, though when he looked upward the sky was still blue.  The scent of roasting meats and spices wafted out of cafes with sidewalk seating, and Dorian nodded his acknowledgement as he passed a diner he recognized. 

“Care to join me for a light lunch, Pavus?” called Herius Catullus as Dorian walked by.  He leaned over the iron railing separating his table and chair from the sidewalk. “It will make up for the last time,” he added, chuckling.  

“I suppose I don’t have a choice now, do I,” Dorian said over his shoulder as he headed for the gate.  “Do you intend to continue the discussion we had last time?”

Catullus ordered carafe of wine and a second glass.  “Oh, I think that discussion is well passed.  Do you plan to revise your budget and present it in the future?”

Dorian shrugged.  He didn’t really feel like drinking, even if it would make dealing with Catullus easier.  “I suppose the real question is if military finance intends to do the same thing.”  He swirled his wine around in the glass and inhaled the heady aroma.  He hated agreeing with Catullus, but this  _ was _ good wine.

“The Seheron situation continues to concern us.”  Catullus poured himself another glass.

“Spoken like a true politician.”  Dorian smiled and sipped again.  “You evade questions masterfully.  Tell me, doesn’t it get tiring never  _ quite _ accomplishing anything?”  Catullus narrowed his eyes.  “You and your committee evade and avoid as a profession.”

“We’re looking to the Imperium’s best interests abroad.”

Dorian nodded and set down his wine glass.  “You know, Catullus, I don’t think we’re destined to ever quite finish a meal together.  May be best if we avoid these impromptu meetings in the future.”  He stood up, and like he had last time, left a few coins on the table before leaving.  He needed his energy if he planned to deal with Tanicus Thrassea in a few hours.

* * *

  
  


Tanicus invited far fewer people this time.  “Pavus, welcome,” Tanicus said warmly as Dorian entered the foyer once more.  “We’re out in the gardens. It’s too lovely an evening to stay inside.” 

Dorian at least agreed with that much, so he followed Tanicus through his home.  The other Magister had chosen dark violet silk robes accented with silver ornaments and polished black leather boots and belts.  Around his neck he wore a large, solid amethyst.  Even if he left Dorian feeling wary, at least Tanicus had good fashion sense.  Dorian himself had opted for a deep, russet-toned ensemble that set off his dark skin quite nicely.

Less than a dozen other people sat around a glass-topped table in the gardens.  Tanicus introduced them and some Dorian recognized as being Magisters, but the others he paid little attention to. They would fawn over one another for the evening, then part ways and perhaps nod politely if they saw each other in the streets or the market at a later time.

“I heard you met with Catullus earlier,” Tanicus said to Dorian.  “I do hope your appetite wasn’t affected?”  He offered a slight smile, and someone else, Spurius or Sirius or whomever, chuckled.

“I only managed to sit through a glass of wine, which is fortunate.” Dorian took a sip of the wine Tanicus served: a richer, bolder wine that tasted a little different from most vintages.  It sent a pleasant tingle through him.  “Catullus didn’t share certain of my opinions.”

“Very few do, Pavus.”  Tanicus’s voice was sympathetic.  “It leaves me… curious, to be honest.”

Some of the others nodded.  Dorian glanced around at the eyes watching him: sympathetic, pitying, curious.  He reached out with his mana and felt no offensive spells being readied.  “Is it so terrible to want to improve our country?” Dorian asked at last.  While the Lucerni agenda was no secret, Dorian and Maevaris did like to play their cards close, and he wondered if Tanicus was trying to feel out their hand.

“No, not at all.  But, Dorian, you are a talented mage.” The flattery left Dorian instantly defensive, even if it  _ was _ true.  “Have you never thought about what you could accomplish if you were to use that power?”

“My father tried that, and ended up dead,” Dorian said with an offhand shrug.  “At least if I’m proposing unpopular and relatively harmless things, I can lengthen my lifespan.”

Lingustinus, or was it Langostino? Laughed.  “Well spoken, Pavus.” He raised his glass in salute.  

“Is that why you invited me this evening, Tanicus?” Dorian asked.  “To save me from myself?  Introduce me to your closest friends and seduce me with promises of power?”

Tanicus shook his head.  “Just introduce you.  Perhaps help you broaden your social horizons, and help you see a wider view of Minrathous than that which you’ve cultivated thus far.”

Dorian nodded his thanks as dinner was served, and then talk turned to such mundane matters as the source of the poultry and the gardens that had produced the fresh vegetables, and the olive groves and how nicely pressed the oils were this time around.  Some of the people around the table were quite pleasant, and even a bit interesting, engaging in academic research in addition to politics.  

“And you’re a Necromancer, correct?” Cressida Gala leaned forward just slightly, her dark eyes fixed on Dorian.  He nodded.  “I would so love to see Necromancy in action,” she said with a smile and a shy tilt of her head.

“Alas, my spirit companions are not quite as extroverted as some,” Dorian told her with an apologetic bow of his head.  “They prefer combat, when death is ever present, or quiet times of solitude.  Or the Fade, as all spirits do.”  He finished off his wine; one of the Thrassea slaves quickly refilled it, almost before he’d even set the glass on the table.

“Cressida has dabbled in the school,” Tanicus explained. “As have I, if we’re being a little bit drunk, and more than a bit honest.  Though your talents and uses of the abilities are of great interest to scholars.”

“It had always been more of a theoretical school,” Dorian explained.   _ Venhedis. _  He wanted to dislike Tanicus and remain entirely suspicious of the man and his friends and parties.  But he so rarely had opportunities to wax eloquent about his academic pursuits and magical theories.  Maker bless him, Dorian loved Theo and Theo was completely supportive, but he didn’t understand magic the way another mage could.  He adored Mae and her vision, talent, and cutthroat determination, but it was all politics these days.

The evening passed far more pleasantly under the dark blue night sky.  Dorian tried to pace himself with the wine, and let a couple others work at outdrinking one another.  Cressida conjured a dragon made out of fire that flew out of her hand and in front of Sirius’s face, but it did not singe his facial hair at all.  Sirius instead cast himself a small blizzard that swirled about him, while Langostino juggled a handful of different colored orbs of light.  All simple tricks, but fun, and Dorian felt the spirits of sadness and death looking on with curiosity at the fun they could neither understand nor enjoy.

When he saw Tanicus watching him, head cocked to the side, Dorian dipped slightly into the Fade and bid the spirits to return to their realms.  “Thank you, but I do believe I must be going.  Early meeting and all,” he said apologetically.  

“Understood.  Don’t be a stranger, Pavus?” Tanicus asked, and Dorian nodded before taking his leave.

He nearly dozed in the carriage on the way home, and made a mental note to avoid drinking quite so much if he ever went to the Thrassea manor again.  And then there was the question of his spirits: even at Skyhold, where there had been many times of merriment, they hadn’t come quite to the edge of his consciousness in the same way.  Usually fun didn’t draw them out.  Definitely worth researching in the Fade at some point.

The carriage stopped in front of his apartment building, but before he could get out, Maevaris climbed in.  She looked troubled.  “My place,” she told the driver, before shutting the door and sitting across from Dorian.

“Why Mae, darling, I thought you’d be able to wait to hear about my evening.  Certainly you can’t be  _ that _ excited?”  

“What were you drinking at… no, never mind.”  She shook her head.  “Where were you this evening?  Before you got to the Thrassea manor.”

This time Dorian did not shoo away his spirits when they came to the edges of reality.  “I had a late half-lunch with Catullus.  The human druffalo?”  Mae didn’t seem amused.  “I had wine with him, and then headed home to rest until I went to Tanicus’s place shortly after sundown.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

“Not that I went home, Gavia had the afternoon off for a family obligation.  Mae… what happened?” he asked, and one large, heavy violet spirit seemed to drape itself over his shoulders, breathing cold air into his ear.

“Catullus was found dead down at the docks this evening, on board a ship that was to transport new recruits for the army.  You were the last person he was seen with.”

Dorian really did feel cold now, as the pleasant warmth of the wine was leached out of his system by this sobering news.

“Oh, and Varric’s visiting, with his new girlfriend.”


	23. Murder in Minrathous

#  Chapter 23: Murder in Minrathous

“I’m really surprised I haven’t written a novel set in Tevinter yet,” Varric mused, standing on the balcony and overlooking the city.

“That could be your reason for being here: research,” Maranda offered.  She sat on the edge of an ornate chair with a pink velvet cushion.  She was so, so tired, but too keyed up to sleep.  Ever since crossing into Tevinter, she’d felt the magic in and around her in an intimate way she’d never known.  Maybe she feared that, if she went to sleep, she’d wake up and the feeling would be gone.

Varric gave a deep chuckle.  “Ellandra Bright, in the Land of Mages,” he said, coming back inside.  

She rolled her eyes.  “I wish you could have picked a better name for me.”

“Nah.  You’re far more Ellandra Bright than, say, Flossie Bridges.”

“Flossie.”

“Flossie Bridges.”

The weeks at sea between the Storm Coast of Ferelden and the Tevinter Imperium had given them all ample time to plan the first phase of their time in Tevinter.  Sera had returned to Kirkwall with Dagna for the time being, and had set up the rescued slaves with other Friends of Red Jenny in and around Kirkwall.  “They’ll be with us now,” Sera said.  “As for you…”

Cardenio had nodded.  “I know.  I’ll be careful.”

Bull and the Chargers took a job in Northern Nevarra and would be relatively nearby.  

Theo and Cardenio would start with the underground in Minrathous, and had spent much of the voyage poring over the information Theo had found in the abyssal lyrium mine, which also included maps of Minrathous.  Cardenio had a general knowledge of the city’s underbelly, which helped with the planning, and then he and Theo trained relentlessly aboard the ship and when they’d done part of their journey overland.

Which left Maranda and Varric, and their job, arguably was the most dangerous.  Maranda and Dorian had met before; they were now related, when it came down to it.  Varric had his connections to Maevaris at least. They’d be spending their time hiding in plain sight, listening in and gleaning what they could to get back to Theo and Cardenio.

Right now, Maranda wasn’t sure what to think about it all.  There were four of them in a city of hundreds of thousands, maybe even a million people.  All they had was a name: Celares.

Maevaris’s front door latch clicked, and Maranda jumped out of the chair.  “Sorry, Varric,” Maevaris said in greeting.  “I thought it best to collect Dorian so we could plan a strategy for him before the watch showed up.”  She slipped into her home and kicked off her soft brown shoes.

“Sparkler!” Varric exclaimed as Dorian entered.  He flung his arms wide and grinned.  “You look wonderfully inebriated.”

“Varric,” Dorian said in greeting.  He glanced over at Maranda.  “Mae mentioned you brought a lady friend with you.”

“This is Ellandra Bright.  A mage from the Marches.  She’d never been to Tevinter, and grew up in the shadow of Kirkwall-- horrible shit, the Gallows,” Varric added, and Maranda nodded.  “And, well… far be it from me to deny such a lovely woman the chance to see such a spectacular place.”

Dorian offered Maranda a tired smile.  “My lady.  Welcome to Minrathous.  You are most lovely, and were you a man, I daresay I’d have trouble keeping my hands off of you.”

Maranda bowed her head demurely.  “My thanks, my lord Magister.”  She stifled a giggle.

“Dorian, please,” he said, face completely straight.  “I’d be interested to learn more about your experiences in the Southern Circles, and how you find Minrathous,” he said.  “Though I fear as of now I’m quite exhausted.”

“Please, don’t stay up on my account,” Maranda said.  “I believe Varric and I intend to mingle with Lady Maevaris a bit before retiring ourselves.”  She smiled at Dorian.  “I should also write my family at some point to let them know I arrived safely,” she added with a nod.

“Plenty of time for that in the morning,” Varric said.  “Sleep tight, Sparkler.  Hey, you and me camping out… almost like old times!”

Dorian glanced between Maranda and Varric.  Maranda didn’t miss the wary expression on his face, or the way his normally perfect hair stuck up in a few places.  The aura that surrounded him made it seem, at least to her, that he wore a cloak made of the Veil itself, and curiosity sparked deep inside of her.  “Almost,” Dorian said at last, and bid them goodnight.

When he’d left Maevaris shrugged out of her heavy over-robe and draped it over the back of a sofa.  “Why do I feel like I missed something?” she asked.  “And did Dorian… come onto you?”

“I have a startling resemblance to my younger brother,” Maranda explained.  “Magister Pavus knows him.”

Mae nodded, her blue eyes narrowing as she stared at Maranda.  “I see,” Mae said at last.  “I set servants to make up rooms for you before I left, so they should be ready now.  I’m afraid Dorian and I will be out early in the morning, provided he doesn’t have a hangover, but my hospitality, and all that comes with it, is at your disposal.”

“You’re a gracious hostess, Mae.” Varric caught her hand and kissing her knuckles.

“You’re lucky Thorold liked you.”  But Maevaris smiled and showed them both to their rooms.  She did pause in the doorway of Maranda’s room.  “Remember, this is Minrathous,” she said.  “You can use your talents freely here.  Perhaps we may spend more time talking about your past experiences and how Minrathous can help you,” she offered, and Maranda nodded appreciatively before bidding her goodnight.

Only when Maevaris had closed the door, leaving Maranda to collapse into the soft guest bed, did she realize that this was going to be exhausting.  Yes, she could use her magic as freely as she wanted; but everything else about her was cloaked in secrecy and lies.   _ Follow Varric’s lead.  Don’t worry about Theo, he ruled nearly all of Southern Thedas.  He’s got Cardenio with him.   _ Cardenio had given her no reason to distrust him.  Cardenio could blend in.

They all seemed to know what they were doing, which was why Maranda had to trust them and play her part.

That night she dreamed of James and the Ostwick Circle, and of Theo, somewhere out in Minrathous, so close to Dorian, and unable to get close to him, and then of Dorian another room or two over from her, knowing Theo was out there, but unable to do anything about it.  They were all trapped, swimming against currents in an ocean of lyrium deep under the Storm Coast. 

When she woke up, it was raining, and thunder rumbled outside her open window.

 

* * *

 

Dorian woke with his head pounding, and vivid memories of his dreams still flashing through his head.  The only times he could recall things being quite so vivid were after he’d spent time in the Fade, or that time Corypheus had nearly killed him.  He’d had a strange dream last night that Mae had accused him of murder, and Varric and a woman who looked an awful lot like Theo were visiting, and Varric wanted to use him as a subject in his newest murder mystery.

He groaned and rolled over.  He wasn’t in his bed.  Not a good start.  He opened his eyes wider.  No strange man in bed with him.  That was a slightly better start.  Mae sat in a chair near the door.  Things immediately worsened.  “I’m guessing it was all only a partial dream?” he asked in greeting, and Mae nodded.

“What happened last night, Dorian?” she asked.  “You weren’t nearly that happy the last time you came back from Tanicus’s place.  And what happened with Catullus?  Someone’s saying you had an altercation.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes.  “We disagreed and I didn’t drink the wine he ordered for me.  Insensitive, perhaps, but hardly an altercation.  As for Tanicus…”  He shrugged.  “Smaller crowd this time, and they weren’t nearly as offensive as I thought they’d be.  His wine on the other hand, though.”  He resisted the urge to fall back on the pillow and go back to sleep.  “Where’s Varric now?  And… blast, the woman.”

“Ellandra?”

“Yes, her,” Dorian said, unsure just how much of a ruse Varric and Maranda were hoping to keep up.  He had a thousand questions for her, not the least of which regarded Theo’s whereabouts so he could beat some sense into him.

“At the market,” Mae told him.  “They thought you and I might need some time to recuperate.”

Dorian nodded.  His sending crystal rested against his chest, still and silent, and maddeningly so; how could his  _ Amatus _ be  _ so _ close and yet not be with him?  Dorian climbed out of bed and dug around for his shirt and boots while Mae left to arrange transportation to his apartment.  He heard her voice from down the hall, talking with someone: a member of the watch?  Another Magister?  Dorian didn’t care to find out.  People turned up dead all the time in Minrathous. But usually these things resulted from contracts and deals made in the dark.  The fact that Catullus was dead wasn’t the amazing thing; the fact that people were talking about it, and worse, looking for a suspect, didn’t bode well.

Mae’s carriage picked them up at a side entrance, another poor omen, and took side streets to Dorian’s place.  The carrion feeders hadn’t arrived yet, thankfully, so Dorian and Mae stole up to his apartments.  “Is the Watch out for me yet?” Dorian called from the washroom.  He splashed icy water over his face and hair and ran a comb through to neaten up the spikes.  No time for a proper bath, which was, unfortunately what he needed right now.  He cleaned his teeth and downed a glass of cold water to help clear his head a bit more.

“Not yet, but you can probably expect to hear from them today, so it’s best to get your story straight,” she called back.

“There  _ is _ no story, Mae,” Dorian snapped.  “I turned down his glass of wine.  I didn’t even laugh at him for looking like a stupid livestock animal.  Came back, rested a bit, then went out, and you can have anyone of the Thrassea servants corroborate that, as well as Tanicus himself.”  He pulled on a charcoal-grey shirt and let the laces remain loose.  He changed his trousers and found his black boots.  “It’s unfortunate coincidence is all.”

“I just worry.”  She tugged on a curl that had escaped her chignon.  She wrinkled her nose when he emerged.  “You look like dracolisk dung.”

“And you are a rare and beautiful flower amongst the weeds.  As always,” Dorian told her, catching her hand.  Mae tugged her hand back and swatted at Dorian.

“This is serious.”

“I know,” he said, keeping his forced smile on his face.  

“You’re awfully calm for a murder suspect.”

“This will blow over, Mae,” Dorian insisted.  “It’s sweet of you to worry.  But I’m no stranger to people trying to undermine me.”

“Neither am I,” she reminded him.  “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Dorian pulled a fitted black coat on and ran a hand through his hair one last time  “I figure it gives me a look of concerned urgency.”

The ride to the Watch’s central station was quiet and pensive.  Dorian wasn’t terribly concerned for his own sake, though the scowl on Mae’s face told him that she thought something was very amiss.  “I don’t know who would kill Catullus, or why,” she said finally.  “Like you said, he’s an idiot. He’s establishment through and through.”

“So was Halward.”

Mae sighed.  “I’m sorry, Dorian.  You’re right, it’s probably nothing.  Better to get this done with.”

Captain Claudius Pindar was a harried man whose job aged him beyond his years.  “Magisters, please come in.  Have a seat,” he said, ushering them into his cramped office and pushing aside everything else he’d been working on.  “I thank you for taking the time to come by on your own.”

“One of ours has been murdered.” Dorian did his best to sound upset.  He hadn’t cared for Catullus, but he’d never wished the man dead.  “I’d like to find his killer as much a clear my own name,” he added pointedly.

“Yes, about that.”  Claudius rubbed the back of his neck.  “I apologize for that, but certain parties were insistent that you be investigated, given that you’d been the last person seen with him.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want the Magister’s mourner to be left hanging,” Dorian drawled, even as his mind started leaping to who might be connected with Catullus, and have a major dislike for Dorian.  He told Claudius about his evening, including what time he’d left home, how long it took to ride to the Thrassea house, and the fact he’d taken a carriage and had the name of his driver handy, should it be required.  “ I took a carriage home, where Magister Tilani notified me of our colleague’s death.”

Claudius nodded and finished up his shorthand notation of Dorian’s testimony.  “Much as I thought.  I appreciate your time, Magister Pavus.”

“You’re just doing your job,” Dorian told him with a smile.  Maevaris also smiled, and appeared a bit more relaxed.

They left Claudius to his piles of work.  “What now?” Mae asked.

“I need to go over to my offices and make sure that all is in order there.  I don’t know what’s at the root of all of this, but framing me could be a distraction.  What will you do?”

“Check in with Varric and his lady friend and pray they’ve stayed out of trouble, and then try to do some damage control.”

They parted ways and Dorian headed toward his office.  While the Lucerni platforms had started challenging the status quo, they’d hardly made enough of a dent to be a threat.  Unless the current administration believed that just being asked to  _ think _ about things being different was threatening.

Dorian stopped before the entry to his office.  The door had been blasted off its hinges.  His desk, his father’s old desk, had had the drawers all turned out.  Paintings hung askew on the wall and the fire roaring in the hearth was started magically.  Traces of mana still lingered in the air, and Titus Magnus stood behind his desk—his father’s desk—with the drawers turned out.  

_ Catullus will hear of this! _  He bit back a groan.  He’d engaged with Titus Magnus only once before, the last time he’d been in Tevinter before the Exalted Council.  His father had intervened, and Titus had stomped off in a fit of pique.

“Magnus.  Kind of you to call,” he said.  “Is there a particular reason you saw fit to call by breaking into my offices, rather than asking to meet for a glass of wine like a civilized person?”

Magnus sat down in Dorian’s cushioned chair and looked up at him.  A message.  He didn’t fear Dorian, even in Dorian’s own territory.  “You no doubt know that Catullus is dead?”

“I just came from the Watch Station to share what I know of it, which is nothing.”

Magnus shook his head.  “As if I’d trust those sops to handle this.  You were the last one to see him alive, and several patrons of a nearby café said you had a heated argument with him.”  Magnus propped his feet up on the desk.

“Hardly an argument.  A casual disagreement at worst.  There have been worse on the Senate floor.  Would that be why you decided to rifle through my office like a common criminal?”

“You can’t blame me, as the next in line of Catullus’s committee, for wanting to get to the bottom of things.”  He swung his legs down and stood, his dark eyes hooded and a smug expression on his face.  “Guards!” he called.

Suddenly city guardsmen flanked Dorian.  He smiled.  “I do hope the cells in the city prison have silk sheets.  Nothing but the best for a Magister.”  

Magnus’s grin faded just a bit.  “The Archon agrees to house arrest.”  Dorian nearly laughed.  Radonis was in on this?  Or perhaps he was merely just another pawn in the games of the Magisterium. Dorian allowed himself to be herded out like a criminal.  He remained calm; he’d faced worse.  This was as much about sending a message to the Lucerni and the people as it was about finding out the truth behind Catullus’s murder.  Still, he was pretty certain that Maevaris was not going to be happy when she learned of this.  

He hoped he’d be allowed visitors, at least.  He needed to catch up with Mae and Varric, and had many questions for Theo’s sister.


	24. Going to Ground

#  Chapter 24: Going to Ground

“It’s not Skyhold, but it’ll do.  In fact it kind of reminds me of some parts of the place,” Theo said at last, looking around the underground chamber.  “What did they use this place for anyway?”

“Storage, I think,” Cardenio said.  “Though it’s been unused for many years.  They say that these tunnels and storerooms could hold enough to feed all of Minrathous for years if the city ever fell under siege.  Now?”  He scowled.  “All a waste of space thanks to decadence and complacency.”

“Works in our favor,” Theo said, even though he would have preferred being anywhere other than underground again.  Still, there was an easy path to the city’s surface, and no darkspawn to contend with.  He spread out a map of Minrathous and then looked over the documents from the lyrium mines yet again.  The name “Celares” kept coming up, and now that he was here in Minrathous, which was impossibly vast, he had no idea where to start looking for Celares.

He heard a shuffling noise and looked up.  His heart twisted in his chest when he spotted the young man with the shaved hair and sorrowful eyes.  “We’re going to work on supplying down here,” he told him, and the man nodded.  He was one of the few who’d stayed with Theo and Cardenio when they broke up a slaving operation the night before. It was not part of Theo’s plan, but then again, nothing he ever planned seemed to work out.  They’d only found about a half dozen; the man waiting at the docks was angry there were so few.  The Carta dwarf just shrugged and demanded payment, and then Theo and Cardenio had gotten to work.  The dwarf killed two of the surprised slaves; another had fallen in the water.  It left three slaves.  Theo and Cardenio left the slavers bleeding out and found their way into the catacombs.

Now Theo looked around at the three who’d come with them: young men only trying to do the right thing, who could not, or would not, go back to see their families again, and with no way to communicate save for grunts and moans.  He glanced up at the man who’d approached.  “Can you write?” he asked suddenly, and the man nodded.  Theo dug through his satchel of documents and supplies before gathering some mostly blank parchments and a pen and ink.  “Tell me what you can?”

The man took the pen in a shaking hand.  He scrawled a name on the paper.   _ Hector _ .   _ Wanted to help family, join army, didn’t sign up for this. _  He looked up and offered Theo a sickly smile at his grim humor.  “I know you didn’t.” Theo tried to smile back.  “I don’t think anyone ever really knows what they’re signing up for,” he added with a glance at his missing left arm.  Definitely not the same, he thought.  “Did you ever hear the name Celares?”  Hector nodded.  “Did you ever see anyone called Celares?”  Hector shook his head.  It couldn’t be that simple, Theo knew.  Still, he’d hoped.  “Were there others?”

Hector took up the pen once more.   _ Not many.  Less people joining up.  Celery, whoever, not happy.  Tough shit. _  He smiled again, a little brighter.  Theo liked him; he wondered what Hector had been like when he could speak.

“Did you know where you were going?” he asked.

_ Seheron? _

“No, sorry.”  Theo took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry I have to ask this but… why did they…”  he gestured to his mouth and winced when Hector paled.  

_ Didn’t want us talking to each other.  Didn’t want us planning.  Didn’t want us telling anyone if we escaped. _

Bile rose and stung the back of Theo’s throat.  His left hand itched to grab his bow, and the rest of him ached to head out  _ now _ and hunt down whoever this Celares bastard was.  He sighed and thanked Hector, then headed over to Cardenio.  “What now?”

Cardenio looked at Hector and the other two, who were unable to write.  Theo hadn’t realized until just recently how uncommon his skillset was: not even the archery, but the actual art of reading and writing.  Most, he’d come to realize, didn’t need the ability to get by.  Tevinter was a whole new world for him, and even more so because he wasn’t just in Tevinter: he was in the squalid depths the capital tried to pretend didn’t exist.  Cardenio thought for a moment.  “We need more information.”

“All we have is information,” Theo snapped.  He leaned his head back against the catacomb wall. The cool stone provided a welcome break from the heat he hadn’t factored into his equations.  

“We have what we found, yes.” Cardenio’s voice was even and patient.  “We have a name.  We have what that name is doing.  But we do not know why, and we do not know how.  We have the information that led us here,” Cardenio told him.  “Now that we’re here we need more.”

“So what are we going to do?”

Cardenio shrugged into a tatty cloak.  “Beg.”

Theo quirked an eyebrow.  “I hardly think people are going to be so forthcoming.”

“Not for information,  _ coglione, _ ” Cardenio said, tossing a similar ratty cloak at Theo.  “For money.”  He held up his hand before Theo could protest that as well.  “As beggars we are nothing.  We are like the vermin that crawl through here.  No one will watch their tongues as they pass us by.  Apologies,” he added suddenly with a glance at Hector and the other two.  

Theo and Cardenio headed out a few minutes later.  No one batted an eye when they emerged from the crumbling archway near the docks.  The smell of stagnant seawater and moldering nets reminded Theo of places he knew.  Some things remained the same throughout Thedas regardless of location.

He kept his head down and followed Cardenio.  He didn’t need to know where he was going, not yet.  He resisted the urge to look up, to gaze toward the spires of the Black Chantry and the Magisterium.  He wanted-- _ needed _ \--to see Dorian in a way that was physically painful.  He’d apologized over and over again through the crystal, but he knew it would be different when he saw Dorian in person once more.  All the guilt from the past months festered inside of him, and he felt even guiltier being in Minrathous and not having seen Dorian yet.  Then he felt even worse when he remembered Hector and the others he’d come across; he wanted to help them, to put a stop to Celares’s plans, but he wanted to do it because Dorian needed his help.  

Theo had told himself for so long that he just wanted to do the right thing; but if he was doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, how right was it?

The hot northern sun beat down on him and he squinted as he and Cardenio wove through the crowds.  Someone jostled Theo’s left arm and he nearly spun around, before remembering he was supposed to be nothing, and no one.

“Stay here,” Cardenio told him when they reached the outskirts of a crowded market.  “Sit against the wall, look pitiful, show your left side-- make it clear you are crippled.”  Theo wanted to protest some more, but Cardenio’s dark eyes were serious.  “Just sit.  Just listen.  And if they give you money, even better!”  And then Cardenio disappeared into the crowd leaving Theo alone in the heart of Minrathous.

Not quite what he’d envisioned when he’d dreamed of joining Dorian in the Tevinter capital.

Theo let himself be jostled and insulted to the side, until his back leaned against the sunbaked stones of an ancient building.  He slid down the wall until he sat in the dirt off the cobblestone walkway.  He shrugged the cloak off his left side, showing off the scarred stump of his left arm; Cardenio had cut the sleeve away before they’d even docked last night.  He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his right arm around them and kept his head down, as much to protect himself from the harsh sun as to keep from being recognized.

He doubted anyone would really recognize him here.  Every Tevinter he’d dealt with in the Inquisition, save Dorian and Krem, had been Venatori, and from what he understood, the Venatori had been eradicated.  

Theo sat there, wondering about Dorian, then about Maranda and Varric, then about Hector and the others, and then about Cardenio.  He knew that Cardenio wouldn’t leave him here to figure the city out on his own.  He trusted Cardenio to come back.  But until he did, Theo truly had nothing to do but listen.

When he was the Inquisitor, people had either spoken very loudly to get his attention, or stopped speaking abruptly when he neared, in fear of catching his attention.  But before that, when he was just Bann Trevelyan’s unfortunate youngest son, no one noticed him if he was quiet and stealthy.  He was nobody.  Just like now.

The conversations were typical for this part of any big city: taxes, costs, people struggling to feed their families.  A city watch patrolman walked by with hardly a glance at the many impoverished people around him.  Two women walked by, discussing a cure for a womanly ailment, for a friend of course.  The patrolman came back down the street with a bag of roasted almonds, and two small children in his wake, begging him to drop some for them.  His eyes were glazed as he stared straight ahead, all but deaf to their begging.

Time passed in a hazy sort of way, made worse by the beating sunlight.  Theo may have even started to doze, when someone kicked him in the leg.  “Spot taken?”  Theo shook his head and Cardenio joined him  on the ground.  “A ship is due in this night,” he said, conversationally.  “Perhaps they’ll need dock workers.  Or, dock  _ worker, amicis _ ,” he said with a chuckle, elbowing Theo.

“Fuck you,  _ amicis, _ ” Theo told him with a smile, and Cardenio snorted.

“Your Tevene is as well-rounded as a druffalo’s testicles.”

“And you know a good deal about druffalo balls?”

“I learned from your mother,” Cardenio said with a smile.  A short way down the street another beggar chuckled.  “He lost his arm on Seheron,” he told the man by way of explanation.

“And they let you back?  These days I hear they just cut out your tongue if you desert,” the other beggar said.  “You boys going to be fine for the night?”

“ _ Gratias, honorabilis, _ ” Cardenio said with a smile.  He got to his feet and hauled Theo up.  “Another alley, another day,” he said in explanation, and they shuffled away, back toward their entrance to the catacombs.

Once in the darkness Theo’s eyes had to adjust from the bright green-white waves of sun-blindness.  They slipped through the corridors, making the few twists and turns until they came out into their storage space.  While they were gone Hector had neatened up, and he and the others were dozing.  They had to be exhausted; Theo didn’t know half of what they’d been through before last night.  “So what now?” he asked Cardenio in a low voice.

“Now, we eat.”  Cardenio brought out a selection of fruits and a small loaf of bread he’d pilfered at the market.

“All part of the ruse?”

Cardenio grinned.  “Of course.”

“I’m not sure the Chantry would approve of their Chanter stealing,” Theo pointed out, but he smiled to show it was in jest. 

Cardenio’s reply, though, surprised him.  “I am not truly a Chanter.  Just a failed assassin with an excellent memory, who needed a place to hide and lie low for a time.”  He tore off a chunk of bread and handed the loaf to Theo.  “To the sisters, I was just a Chanter with a vocation and a vow.  They said whatever they pleased in my presence.”  He nibbled at his bread.  “What did you think of our little foray?”

Theo shrugged.  “I’m honestly not sure what we got out of it, besides your excellent stealing skills.”

“We learned a boat is coming in, and someone is making it seem that this--” he pointed to his mouth, “is punishment for desertion.  I’m guessing very few escape, but the ones that do…”

“So I guess you and I are going to check in on that boat?” Theo asked.

Cardenio’s smile widened.

* * *

  
  


Theo found Minrathous at night far more bearable.  Without the bright blinding sun, he felt much cooler, and there was no glare off of the pavement and the buildings.  The docks were as busy at night as during the day.  People hung around, waiting for ships to come in.  Theo left the talking to Cardenio, who was comfortable taking on any persona he needed to.  Theo did notice a dwarf here or there; but they never acknowledged one another or looked at each other.  In fact, they seemed to be trying  _ too  _ hard to ignore each other.  Theo silently thanked Bull and the bits of spy training he’d passed on.

A bell rang and instantly everyone milling about the dock jumped to attention.  Theo craned his neck to see the ship coming into view.  It was much like the ship they’d commandeered to sail out of the Storm Coast, and his gut twisted wondering if they’d find more lyrium.  He felt more gnawing guilt: how many others had been hurt or killed during his time in transit?

He took a deep breath and centered himself.  Regret could get him killed if he wasn’t careful.

Theo wore no cloak this time, counting on the darkness and shadows to obscure his features.  He hadn’t strapped on his prosthetic arm; he still needed practice fighting with it.  He did have an assortment of blades holstered and sheathed to him, and even that didn’t compare to the small arsenal Cardenio had managed to wear, without looking like he was even wearing them.  Theo idly wondered just why Cardenio had failed as an assassin.

The ship pulled in; ropes were flung to the dock, and the motley assortment of people there shoved others out of the way to tie them off and solidify their employment.  Theo made a halfhearted attempt, just to look the part.  He noted that Cardenio had managed to squeeze in.  Theo hung back and just listened.

“...nother lyrium shipment for the fuckin’ mages…”

“If they weren’t mages, you think they’d stay high and mighty like that?”

“Don’t help they hire Carta.  Can’t even be arsed to hire their own people, and we’re stuck here fighting like dogs.”

Carta.  The dwarves.  Theo made a mental note to ask Varric about the role of dwarves here in Tevinter, and specifically the Carta.  Unfortunately Sera had killed Javagan before the dwarf could explain that finer point of things.

The gangplank hit the dock with a thud and the crew emerged.  The captain was a bulky man with tangled, sun-bleached hair that seemed to glow in the moonlight.  “Right.  We need to unload this shite and load it back up on our transport to head uptown, and it needs doing before dawn.  Got no time to squabble over prices so…”  He surveyed the group standing and staring up at his ship.  He pointed out three dwarves and two humans, eyes passing over Cardenio and several others as if they weren’t even there.  

The five selected headed into the ship, while the others dispersed.  “No point in them hanging around,” Cardenio explained.  “There may be other work elsewhere.  So they leave, and we wait.”

“The ones he picked.  They weren’t randomly selected, were they.”

Cardenio gave him an approving look.  “You do learn.  We may just make it through this.”

They watched from the shadows as two crates of lyrium were carted out of the ship.  “Just two?” one of the dwarves asked.  

“Mine is running low on man-power, and those fucking deep-dark-whatever dwarf-like things are more organized.  Operation’s going pear-shaped.”

“Probably whoever killed Javagan and the others.”

“One of Celares’s guys coming for this?”

“Yep.”  The captain came out onto the dock and stretched.  He wore a large sword at his hip.  “I’m getting my money and getting a woman.  Or two.”  He laughed.

Theo’s left hand itched, and he wanted to go for a knife, get started, gut these guys now.  But he centered himself once more and remained patient.  The men remaining on the dock pulled out dice and began playing wager games right on top of a lyrium crate.  The crates glowed a faint blue through the slats.

Finally the sound of a carriage came down the road, and the dwarves straightened up.  Theo pressed himself back into the shadows.  The carriage pulled up in front of them, blocking Theo’s view.  He squatted down and angled his head so he could see.  Someone descended and hopped onto the dock.  Theo saw black boots and little more.  The muffled voices frustrated him as he tried to listen in.

He glanced over at Cardenio, but he wasn’t there.  Then suddenly the horses whinnied, and with a clatter of hooves shoved their way through the cramped street.  The carriage driver leapt down after them.  Everyone on the dock went into a frantic panic, and that’s when Theo and Cardenio struck.

Theo pulled out his main blade and fell into the rhythm of the fight.  As always, people went for his left side.  Cardenio subdued the tall man from the carriage first, as he was no doubt a mage.  Theo kicked a Carta dwarf out of the way; the dwarf stumbled and fell into the water, but one of the ship’s crew was on him.  Theo slammed into him with his left shoulder, and followed up with a swipe of his knife that caught the man across the torso.  He noted that everyone stayed clear of the lyrium crates, even if they could provide cover or higher ground.

Cardenio dispatched a Carta dwarf with a knife to the neck and kicked the body over into the water.  He then took on the captain, leaving Theo to deal with the remaining dwarf and the two other dock workers.  One of the humans grabbed Theo from behind, and the other came at him from the front.  Theo used his captor as leverage to kick out at the forward attacker, before slamming his head back into the man’s nose.  Stars shone at the edges of his vision, and the back of his head hurt-- how did Cardenio, or any of the other fighters he’d watched, make that move look so easy?

It didn’t matter; he ducked and drew his boot knife and aimed it at the oncoming attacker.  He threw it and it buried itself in the man’s stomach.  He doubled over.  Theo rolled out of the way of another oncoming attack and grabbed the bloody knife. He jabbed it between the man’s ribs and twisted, and he was still.

Cardenio finished off the captain and turned to the rest of the crew, watching from the rails of the ship.  “Anyone else?” he asked, flourishing his bloody knives and taking a bow.  Then he turned to the downed mage and looked at Theo.

“Celares, I presume?” Theo asked the man, standing over him and staring down.

The man had pale eyes and dark skin, and his oiled black hair was tied back with strands escaping.  “I am but a humble envoy,” he gasped, flicking his gaze around to the bloody dock and finally focusing on Theo’s knife, aimed down at his throat.  “Celares has envoys.  He has made promises, and he can make good on them if he has what he needs.”

“Pure lyrium?”  Theo stared at the lyrium crates.  The pure lyrium had enhanced Maranda’s abilities just by her being around it.  This man hadn’t even tried casting.  “He’s not lying,” he told Cardenio.

“I suppose that is useful,” Cardenio acceded.  “Do you have the payment for the crew?”  The man nodded and pointed to the carriage.  Cardenio disappeared into the carriage for a moment and came out with two bags.  He dropped one onto the dock with a jingle.  “For your work, gentlemen,” he called to the crew of the ship.  Then he knelt by the man, twirling a blade in his hand.  Suddenly he jabbed it into the man’s side and he screamed.

“It will only be a fatal wound if you let it go for too long,” he explained with an ironically kind smile.  “So, you can head back and get help for it, or you can bleed out here.  Either way, our work here is done.”

The man’s pained eyes widened even more.  “Without the lyrium, Celares will kill me!”

“So will that wound, so it’s up to you how you wish to go.  If you do happen by Celares, tell him…” Cardenio looked at Theo and his smile widened.  “Tell him Le Gauche sends his regards.”

Only when they were hauling the crates back to their hideaway, did Theo pause and stare at Cardenio.  “Le Gauche? Really?”

“Orlesian.  The left.  I thought it was cute, particularly since Sera took to calling you Lefty before we parted ways.”

“And what good will  _ Le Gauche  _ do?”

Cardenio hauled his crate into the lair.  “He will bring out Celares in a way that Theo Trevelyan, or Cardenio, cannot.”


	25. Accusations

#  Chapter 25: Accusations

Dorian ran his hand through his hair again, mussing it further as he paced the sitting room of his apartments late that night.  Maevaris had managed to evict the guards, who, though under orders from the Archon, did not dare defy another Magister to her face.  They stood in the hall, and Dorian cast his charms to silence the doorway so he and Mae could speak.  “The first three times weren’t enough?  I told you exactly what happened.  I told the Watch exactly what happened.  And you can look through every corner of my office that Magnus didn’t already toss.  Assassins aren’t my style, Mae,” he said.  “I prefer to face my foes.”

“Someone will say it was revenge for your father’s assassination.”

“I don’t know anything about who was behind that,” Dorian snapped.  “Halward didn’t make waves.  I don’t know who would want to have killed him, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have been Catullus. Go ahead, search my office; search this place, you won’t find any links to assassins here.”  He fell into his chair and closed his eyes.  He didn’t remember the last time he was so exhausted, or the last time he didn’t have a plan.

“Dorian...”  Mae pulled another chair up and sat across from him.  He met her serious blue eyes.  “I didn’t want it to come to this, but have you heard from Trevelyan?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes.  “No, though I’m sure he’s out there somewhere poking around where we dare not, nor cannot.  He wouldn’t do that, Mae.  He’s helping us.  And if I haven’t heard from him, it’s because he’s protecting me.”  

“Catullus died the same night Varric and Ellandra arrived.”

“Talk to them and find out what they know, then, because I know nothing.”

Mae’s tone was gentle.  “I’m trying to help you, Dorian.  Trying to help us.”

Dorian nodded and tried not to be terribly offended.  His arrest was as much about the Lucerni party as it was about him personally.  While he certainly valued his own neck, he also valued what they’d started working toward, and what they were working to uncover.  “I don’t think he’d do that,” he finally said.

“I’ve never met him, but you gushed about him and his work as the Inquisitor, and I believe you; but I have to consider every angle.” She rested her hand on his shoulder.  “I hope I’m wrong, because believe it or not, I know a thing or two about love.”  She twisted her own gold and sapphire ring on the third finger of her left hand, expression wistful.  Mae’s relationship with Thorold Tethras, while certainly financially beneficial, was one of sincerity and affection.  She, of anyone, would understand Dorian’s predicament.

Dorian bid her farewell.  He managed to peek outside the door before the new guards slammed it in his face.  His spacious apartment suddenly felt too small and confining, and moreover, it was a mess from his mad dash to get ready earlier.  

Dorian paced through the rooms, looking for anything that could possibly be used against him and piled everything into the hearth.  There wasn’t much, but the simple act of setting fire, of watching the flames issue from his own hands and roar up the flue helped ease his tension and anger.  He sat on the marble floor in front of the fire, feeling chilled and waiting for the heat of the magical flames to soak into him. 

The chill would not abate.  Dorian had been in bad situations before: the time his father had had him kidnapped and dragged home; any number of times with the Inquisition; the Qunari near-invasion two years ago.  But nothing that left him feeling so hopeless, and worst of all, frightened.  He’d been able to defend himself any of those times; but now, he wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do.

And then the worst thing of all happened.

He started wishing his father was with him.  He laughed aloud, shoulders shaking at the irony of everything.  Here he was in his father’s world, wishing for his father’s presence, when he’d always haughtily sworn it all off.  Somewhere, someone would be winning a wager.  But Halward would have known what to do: whose palms to grease, who to contact, and what to say.  Halward knew the rules and could play by them.

Dorian drifted off to sleep on the floor before the fire; when he woke, the coals had gone cold.  Dorian winced and tried to sit up. His back ached from sleeping on the hard marble.  His arm tingled from falling asleep on it; one side of his face was numb from the chill floor, and he’d drooled.  He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and rubbed his itchy eyes.  Maybe it was all a bad dream.

Then he looked up and saw he’d forgotten to draw the deadbolts and chains on the door, and a quick wave of his hand told him he’d also forgotten to cast his usual traps.  He stumbled toward the door and cracked it open, only to be faced with a stern guard who shook his head and pulled the door closed on Dorian. 

_ Venhedis, _ so it was real then. 

He went into his bedroom and collapsed on his bed, but couldn’t get back to sleep.  The question wasn’t who may have hated Catullus enough to have him murdered; assassinations happened regularly.  Halward Pavus was proof enough of that.  But what had he been doing at the docks?

The nighttime slogged past, limping into a grey morning.  Dorian slept an hour here or there.  He stared at the sending crystal and wondered if he and Theo were playing an overly cautious game, each too afraid to contact the other, lest the timing be poor, and as a result, never even trying.  What Dorian would have given to have Theo with him just now… 

Dorian rolled out of bed and checked his door again.  Yes, still guarded.  He tried arguing with the guards to let him out, but eventually they were replaced with templars, and Dorian knew well enough to back down for the time being.  He hated it, but this was his neck on the line, and it was a lovely neck, after all.

At last Titus Magnus strode through the door of the Pavus apartments, flanked by his bodyguards.  Dorian glanced up from the book he was pretending to read and smiled. “Pleasure to see you again, Magnus,” he said.  He didn’t stand up from his father’s overstuffed chair.  “I’d tell you you’re welcome to search my quarters, but you’re going to regardless of if you’re welcome or not.  Wine?” he asked.

Magnus at least was slightly caught off guard by his relaxed demeanor, and only grunted once.  His guards headed off through the quarters.  Dorian went back to reading his book, ignoring the sounds of fabric tearing and glass breaking.  He expected nothing short of complete destruction.  He hated those drapes anyway.

The minutes slipped by and still Magnus leaned against the wall and Dorian pretended to read, casually flipping the parchment pages.  Clearly it was taking longer than Magnus had expected.  At last the guards returned to the sitting room, shaking their heads.  “So Magnus, to whom should I send the bill to repair my quarters?” Dorian closed the book and stroked his moustache.  “And my office, since you saw fit to destroy that as well.”

A blast of force energy hit him hard in the chest; the gilt legs of the chair scraped across the marble and the force of the spell tipped the chair back.  Dorian saw stars when his head hit the floor. Magnus stood over him, pointing the clawed end of his staff in his face.  “Someone needs to answer for this,” he growled.  “It  _ will _ be you.”

Dorian pulled from the darkness of the Fade and a cloud of violent violet erupted around Magnus and his men.  The two body guards screamed and fell to the floor, writhing in terror; Mangus tried to stand his ground, but the fear permeated his mind.  He tensed and shook and tried to threaten Dorian further, but when he opened his mouth only a scream came out.  Dorian calmly got to his feet and brushed off his robes.  His legs wanted to buckle beneath him.  He held out a hand and the purple mists swirled into a vortex that he gathered into his palm before it all disappeared.  “I’ve tolerated your uncivilized behavior long enough,” he said in a low voice.  “You’ve found nothing.  Leave my home, or there will be another dead Magister for the Senate to contend with.  The only difference is I  _ will _ be connected to this one.”

Magnus blinked a few times, clearing the residual terror from his mind.  He managed a grin, but it was far from his usual haughty expression.  “It’s a shame about your father, Pavus,” he said as he headed toward the door.  Dorian, luckily, had spent years growing a tough emotional shell as far as his father was concerned.  “The Magisterium is lacking without his presence.”

After he’d left Dorian counted to ten, taking slow deep breaths and forcing himself to relax.  His mana buzzed within him and his skin felt tight, like he couldn’t contain all of his emotions and magic. His bedroom had been torn apart, books scattered over the floor—some priceless tomes Halward had managed to procure during Dorian’s last visit.  Drapes hung askew, and feathers floated on the air among the dust motes.  It looked like he would have to avail himself of his expense account and redecorate.

Things looked bleak, especially with the burden of innocence placed on Dorian’s shoulders.  He and Maevaris would need a strong strategy to counter Magnus and whoever else had allied with him. He wished he still had the Inquisition resources at his disposal.  Between Josephine, Leliana, and the Iron Bull, they would have not only already rooted out Catullus’s real murderer, but also his father’s assassin.

He was sitting out on his balcony, soaking in the hot midday sun when Maevaris returned, this time with Varric and “Ellandra” along with her.  Dorian jumped out of his chair, heart pounding, eyes looking beyond Mae, Varric and Theo’s sister for Theo himself, and he kept staring even when Varric shook his head.  “Sorry, Sparkler.  Not yet.”

Dorian sighed and headed inside, pulling the doors closed.  He cast his silencing spells.  “You managed to get rid of the templars?”

“There was another death down at the dock,” Varric said.  The dwarf made himself comfortable, pulled out a silk kerchief, and blotted the sweat off his forehead.  “The Watch went to investigate, and Mae pleaded your case to have your house arrest revoked.”

“As did another  _ friend  _ of yours,”  Mae added. “One Tanicus Thrassea.”

Dorian stifled a groan.  “So now I’m indebted to him as well.”  He hadn’t minded the academic nature of Tanicus’s company, but now he didn’t want to think what would be expected of him.  “So I’m cleared then?” he asked after a moment.  

“Titus Magnus is seething, but yes,” Mae told him.  “But you’re still being watched carefully, which is why we’re here.  To make a plan.”

“A plan.”  Dorian eyed her warily.  He knew that politics meant biding his time, having the facts, and presenting them in the right order.  But this wasn’t politics anymore: this was his life.

“You have certain interested parties who would like to meet with you,” Varric told him.  “Ellandra, dear?”

“Can you stop calling me that when we’re not in public?”

“But it’s a great name!”

“I like my own name.”  Varric pouted and Dorian and Maranda both glared at him until he shrugged.  “My brother can’t do anything simply, as you well know,” she began, and Dorian’s heart twisted in his chest.  He knew better than anyone.  “He’ll be able to show and tell you the things he’s found out, but we need a distraction because he knows you’re being watched and followed.”

Dorian nodded, finding it hard to keep his emotions reined in.  Mae watched him, eyes narrow.  He couldn’t decide if, when he saw Theodane once more he would kiss him or slap him.

“Got any food here, Sparkler?” Varric asked suddenly.  “Mae promised me we’d eat if we came here.”

“You have my hospitality,” Dorian said with a wave, and Varric hopped up and let Mae lead him toward the kitchen. “Gavia is off still, so good luck,” he called.  He settled down on a chair.  “Welcome to Minrathous, Maranda,” he said at last.

“Thank you,” she said with a slight nod.  “I like it here, except for the heat.  At least I’m a mage and can handle it.”

“It  _ is  _ nice to know you’re not afraid of a little adventure,” Dorian said.  “So many of the rebel mages I met during the Inquisition didn’t know how to live outside of the walls of the Circle.”

She flashed him a rueful smile.  “It wasn’t easy; I at least had a family to go home to, who was willing to shelter me, and help me figure things out when I didn’t want to just languish.”  She shrugged.  “I think I got a bit more than I bargained for with this, though.”

“That seems to happen quite a bit when Theodane is involved.  Have you… have you spoken with him recently?”  Dorian’s hand drifted up to the crystal around his neck.  

“Just in passing.  He’s keeping a low profile, but if it helps, he’s going crazy being here.  Tevinter.  Minrathous,” she said with a wave of her hand toward the balcony doors.  “And not seeing you yet.  It all really hit him hard.”

“Yes, I really felt terrible for him that my father died and I had to come back here,” Dorian said wryly.  Maranda’s cheeks flushed and she bit her lip, much the way her brother did when he was chagrined, and Dorian sighed. “I apologize, it’s not kind of me to take out my frustrations on you.  Are you able to get him messages?”

“We’re working on a system,” she told him.  “I’m a mage, so I’m tolerated here, but I’m what you call… Laetan?  That’s what Lady Tilani told me.”

“Just call her Mae,” Dorian said with a smile.

Maranda nodded slowly.  “Yes.  I’m Laetan, and from the south, so no one pays me much attention if I’m alone.”

“Maker’s testicles, they’re letting you go out alone?”

“I’m older than you, Dorian, and though I may be one of your poor southern rebels, I did learn a thing or two about magic,” she said.  “Just here and there, and nowhere terribly dangerous.”  She held up her hand.  “None of that ‘but this is Tevinter’ tripe, either.”  She glanced toward the hallway Varric and Maevaris had disappeared down.  “If you hit up the south bazaar, he likes to hang out and beg.  Everyone thinks he lost his arm in Seheron.”

“And here I thought  _ I _ was the dramatic husband,” Dorian said.  Part of him wanted to grab his boots and head out right now; but there were plans to make to protect all of them.

Mae and Varric came back, bearing a board of sliced meat and cheese, a ceramic bowl of olives, a bottle of wine, and a loaf of crusty bread.  “Can’t plan on an empty stomach,” Varric said cheerfully, ripping off a hunk of bread.

Varric, Mae, and Maranda had been busy planning on how to reunite Theo and Dorian, so Dorian just listened and let them explain what they were going to do.  It involved yet more waiting that Dorian didn’t care to do, but he kept twisting his wedding ring on his finger and telling himself that it would be worth it.  And that maybe he would kiss Theo first, then slap him.

And then kiss him again, and again, and again.


	26. Making Up

#  Chapter 26: Making Up

Theo had been in Minrathous less than a week and already didn’t care for it.  He wanted to.  He told himself that once he and Dorian could finally be together, it wouldn’t be so bad.  But the time he’d spent masquerading as a beggar and moonlighting as a crime lord had acquainted him with the dark and gritty underbelly of Tevinter’s capital, and he couldn’t unsee it just by moving into better appointments uptown.

Le Gauche wasn’t a very well known name yet, but Cardenio explained that these things took time.  Theo only knew that the two crates of pure, deep lyrium shoved way back into their hideaway made him nervous and edgy.  He’d gotten good at stealing, though he wondered what would happen if he got caught.  He couldn’t exactly afford to lose his other hand, if that was the punishment here.

He learned that Celares’s envoy had died, bleeding out in an alley not far from the docks.  This he overheard from a well-dressed dwarf walking alongside a lovely woman with glossy dark hair and pale skin that was pink from the sun bearing down overhead.  The two looked at Theo, huddled over next to a sewage grate, and tossed him a couple of coppers that he nimbly caught.  When the woman dropped her reticule, Cardenio leaped out of the alley he’d been waiting in and swiped it up from the pavement.

The woman screamed; Theo clutched his two coppers and ran down the alley, taking twists and turns as the chaos ensued in the market, and met up with Carenio just inside the entry to the catacombs later that afternoon.  This was how they began to fund their underground empire; no one batted an eye at a tourist tossing a couple coins to a beggar, but they would have noticed if more money than that changed hands.

“So what now?” Theo asked, as they counted out what they’d stolen from Varric and Maranda.

“I start outfitting Hector and friends.”  Cardenio grinned and gave Hector an encouraging nod.  “You get to read this note from your sister.”  He passed Theo the rolled up piece of parchment.  

Theo supposed it was good Cardenio was starting to involve Hector and the other two-- Cardenio called them Maximus and Paulus (or Max and Paul, which both agreed to with a nod).  Languishing away underground really wasn’t much of a way to live, not after what Theo had seen in the Deep Roads.

He reclined on his bedroll and lit a candle.  He read Maranda’s letter three times before taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and burning it.

“What did our lovely benefactor have to say?” Cardenio asked when Theo rejoined him.  “Are we heading out this night?”

“You can if you want,” Theo said.  “I have… places to be.”

* * *

  
  


“Took you long enough.”

“I’m just figuring out the area around the docks,” Theo hissed.  “I haven’t exactly been around this part of the city very much.”

Maranda appraised him.  “I can see that.  Come on, Maevaris and Varric are waiting.”

Theo followed behind his sister along a darkened garden pathway.  She paused to knock on a faded wooden door, which opened on well-oiled hinges.  There had been a time when Theo would have been nervous plunging into the darkness, but that had been so much of his life lately, that what was one more doorway?

Maranda conjured a pale wispy light and they wound their way through a basement storage room.  There were some cobwebs, but otherwise it was tidy and organized, and probably unlikely that there were spiders around.  At least Theo hoped.  They climbed a set of stairs and Maranda waved her hand over the door; a pale green glyph shone.  She traced it with her fingers and it faded away.  The door opened, and he followed Maranda into a kitchen, well stocked and still warm from dinner preparations.  His stomach growled loud enough that his sister turned to stare at him.  “I’ve been living off of whatever we can get our hands on for the last week,” Theo said with a shrug.  “Just  _ smelling _ real food is enough to make my stomach want to eat itself.”

“Hey there Fletch!” Varric greeted him as he entered the sitting room.  He raised an eyebrow.  “Not your best look.  Oh, this is Maevaris Tilani, my cousin Thorold’s widow.”

A tall blonde woman rose from an overstuffed chair.  Her sky blue silk dressing gown trailed along the tiled floor.  “Lord Trevelyan,” she said with a nod.  “Welcome to Minrathous.  Thank you for doing the dirty work for us,” she added.

“Just Theo, please.  And I’m not sure which of us has the dirtier job.”  Theo gave her a wry smile.  “At least I  _ know _ how dirty I’m getting.”

She returned the smile.  “Yes, the stories of your distaste for politics always seemed to make the rounds at least once during a senate session.”  Maevaris’s shrewd blue eyes swept over Theo, a look he was familiar with: she was measuring him.  What had she gotten herself into by employing him, and what sort of liability was he going to be?  Then her face relaxed.  “Varric will show you to the guest wing.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Magister Tilani,” Theo said with a slight bow.

“Just Mae, please,” she told him.  “Dorian is one of the onlytrue friends I have in Minrathous, and Dorian loves you.  That alone would be enough reason for us to be on a familiar basis.”

Theo thanked her and let Varric lead him deeper into Mae’s home.  “So that Magister down on the docks… you?”  Varric asked when they were in the guest room that had been made up for Theo and Dorian.  Theo nodded.  “And I’ll wager he wasn’t our mystery man?”  Theo shook his head.

“Celares is still out there, whoever he is.  You didn’t happen to hear anything about a stolen lyrium shipment did you?”

“I did hear about a scuffle at the dock with some disreputable Carta members.  But that was it.  You and Chanter stole a lyrium shipment?” Varric shook his head.  “Just when I think you can’t make things any weirder.”

Theo told him about the two crates.  “If no one’s reporting the lyrium stolen, then Celares is saying everything loud and clear by saying nothing at all.”  He handed Varric the bag over his shoulder.  “Some of what we found in the Deep Roads, and things we’re starting to uncover.  You can show Mae and Maranda.”

“And Sparkler?”

“And Dorian.”

Varric left him alone and Theo shed his tattered, filthy clothes.  Mae had hardly batted an eye at his state of dress, which he appreciated.  He would have been exceedingly happy if he could avoid dressing in those clothes again, but would settle for at least cleaning up.  Mae’s servants had run a bath already, and Theo’s actual things, that he’d brought to Kirkwall from Ostwick, had been smuggled into Maevaris’s home by Maranda and Varric.

Theo hadn’t been truly clean in what felt like… and probably was, sadly, months.  He tried not to think about the layers of Deep Roads grime, and salt and sun, and sand and street scum that he was washing away.  He soaked, scrubbed, rinsed… then did it all over again.  When he was finished he combed his hair and trimmed his scruffy facial hair.  He almost looked human again; his nose and cheeks were a bit red from the days spent in the hot Tevinter sun, and he thought he had an unintentional scowl from squinting so much.

He looked far different from the last time he and Dorian had seen one another.  Time and distance would do that, he supposed.  Theo shook the water droplets out of his hair, which had passed the shaggy phase somewhere in the Deep Roads, and was now just long.  Theo wriggled into a pair of loose, tan linen trousers and slipped the green silk shirt over his head. He didn’t bother with the laces up the front, and this was one garment a tailor hadn’t touched; the left sleeve hung empty past his elbow.  He didn’t bother with socks or shoes.  

With nothing to do but wait, Theo paced the room. He trailed his hand over the shelves and furniture, wincing when his rough fingertips caught on a finely woven fabric.  Then the door latch rattled a bit and the door squeaked.  He held his breath.  His stomach clenched and his tongue stuck in his mouth.  He chewed on his bottom lip and watched the door creep open.

The soft light of the hallway cast Dorian’s face into shadow, but Theo knew every line, every angle, every curve of that perfectly sculpted face.  His throat closed up. His face was warm and his hands tingly, even the one that wasn’t there.  He gulped in a breath and let it out in a sigh: “Dorian.”

“Theodane.”

He’d heard Dorian’s voice through the crystal, but there had always been the emptiness.  He could pretend all he wanted that Dorian was right next to him, but in the end it was still pretending. Now, Dorian stood before him, his cream-colored robes offsetting his bronzed skin and dark hair, the folds of fabric falling into perfect place with each subtle move Dorian made.  He looked at the floor.  “Dorian, I’m... I’m sorry.”

Dorian didn’t speak.  He took a step toward Theo.  Then another.  Then he stood face to face with him, gazing into his green eyes.  Theo’s heart hammered against his ribs as he stared into Dorian’s eyes, so close he saw the flecks of gold in the warm grey, so close he could see the faint sheen of sweat on Dorian’s forehead, and the way Dorian’s mustache trembled ever so slightly.  Dorian stared for a moment.  Then he pulled back and slapped Theo hard across the cheek.

Theo actually smiled, even as his cheek stung and tingled; no doubt a red handprint blossomed there already.  “I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did.”

And then he was in Dorian’s arms, their lips pressed together as if the last several months hadn’t happened.  Dorian’s hands were hot on Theo’s cheeks and his long fingers curled into Theo’s hair. Theo threw himself into the curve of Dorian’s lips and the taste of his tongue and the smell of the wax he used to keep his mustache so perfectly in place, and the light dragonfly-wing buzz of Dorian’s magic.  He wrapped his arm around Dorian’s neck and twisted his fingers into the folds of his robes and held him close.

Dorian forced him to take a step back and then Theo fell onto the bed with his husband straddling him, kissing him like he’d never been kissed before.  He curled his fingers into Dorian’s soft, dark hair and wrapped his legs around Dorian’s torso.  Dorian caught his breath and pulled away.  His cheeks were flushed and his hair mussed.  Like this, it was almost possible to pretend that nothing had changed, but so much had.  Dorian brushed Theo’s brown hair off his forehead and stared at him until Theo squirmed under his husband’s weight.

“I’m glad I could welcome you to Minrathous properly,  _ Amatus.” _ Dorian climbed off of Theo and flopped onto the bed.  He leaned on his elbow, and ran his fingers down Theo’s arm, stopping at the end of his elbow.  “You seem to be doing well?” His tone was hopeful, almost shy.

“It’s still a challenge, but I’m learning to make do, and in some cases use it to my advantage.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“Sometimes.  Nothing like it used to though.”  Theo met Dorian’s gaze.  “Maker’s breath, I missed you, Dorian.”  He scooted over and nestled his head against Dorian’s chest and closed his eyes.  Dorian’s heartbeat sounded fast and strong over the roar in Theo’s ears.  

“Your shirt looks quite nice on you,” Dorian commented.  “I think it would look better on the floor, personally.”

Theo was grateful that he’d chosen loose trousers.  “Little help?” he asked, looking up at Dorian, his breath catching in his throat.  Maker’s nuts and Andraste’s arse: Dorian was stunning.  His long fingers slipped under Theo’s green silk shirt and worked it up over his torso, his hands gliding over Theo’s skin.  The touch was so light, so teasing, and yet Theo hadn’t felt it for so long; he feared he’d lose himself before they even got started.

The silk shirt fluttered to the floor.  Theo sat up and nudged Dorian onto his back, and then began slowly working at the buckles and clasps of Dorian’s clothing. “Need help?” Dorian asked, lightly catching Theo’s wrist in one of his hands.  Theo nodded and let Dorian assist him; Dorian’s fingers tickled every time they brushed his hand.  When Dorian had shed everything except his light shirt, he kissed Theo’s fingertips before pulling the shirt over his head and reclining on the bed, topless.  His fitted trousers clung to his legs.  Light silvery scars crossed over his torso, and Theo traced over them with his fingertips.

The bronzed skin of Dorian’s torso broke out into gooseflesh and Theo smiled in spite of himself.  He trailed his fingers down and teased at Dorian’s waistband.  He glanced up and met Dorian’s gaze. Dorian shuddered as Theo aimlessly trailed his fingers in lazy circles across his stomach, and slipped out of his trousers and smallclothes in one smooth motion.  Without the confines of his clothing, Dorian relaxed and glanced downward.  “I suppose I missed you too, love,” he teased. “Quite a bit actually.”  He started to sit up, but Theo held his hand to Dorian’s chest.

He shook his head.  “I have more than a few things to make up for.” Theo’s heart pounded and it felt like bees buzzing through his veins.  Seeing Dorian in all his glory, scars and all, in reality and not a dream, left him giddy.

“You don’t have to make it up with--”  Dorian gasped when he felt Theo’s tongue.  Theo glanced up and grinned, his green eyes all wide innocence.  Dorian’s head fell back and he took a deep breath.  “Yes.  Yes, you have much to make up for,  _ Amatus. _  Start atoning.”

* * *

  
  


Dorian’s long, dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks and his breathing was deep and even.  Theo never tired of studying him in any light, but now in the dim candlelight Dorian seemed ethereal and too beautiful to be physically real.  But he was warm and solid, and this was no trick of the Fade, even if he was completely spent and teetering on the edge of sleep.  

Dorian sighed in his sleep and rolled over into Theo.  He flung his arm over his torso, and Theo locked his fingers with Dorian’s.  “I love you,” he whispered, before closing his eyes.  The last time he slept so soundly had been before the Exalted Council.  He knew this was likely to be a rarity, that he’d be back to sleeping in alleys and catacombs probably the next night.  But right now he was naked with his husband in a clean bed in a safe place, and that made up for everything.


	27. Politics in a Nutshell

#  Chapter 27: Politics in a Nutshell

“Are you… humming?” Maevaris looked up from the papers she was reading and arched an eyebrow at Dorian.

“Maybe a little.”  Dorian took the chair across from her at the glass-topped table in her conservatory.  A servant poured him coffee.  “Is that the paperwork from the Deep Roads?”

“Yes.  All that’s mentioned is the name Celares.  There’s no one in the Magisterium, or in any of the prominent social families by that name.” She sighed.

“I don’t mind digging in the archives,” Dorian offered.  “And Theo told me he has two crates that were meant for Celares.  So perhaps this mystery individual will come to us, and save us the trouble of ferreting him out.  Meanwhile we can focus on continuing to handle the political side of things.”

She nodded.  “Varric has Merchant Guild contacts that he’s feeling out.  They don’t like to admit it, but they deal with the Carta same as any other business,” she said grimly.  “Will you be able to make it to the session later today?”

“Of course,” Dorian told her.  “Why wouldn’t I?”  She said nothing, just glanced down the hallway toward her guest wing.  “Would I  _ prefer _ to remain cozied away from the world with my husband? Absolutely.  But he understands that I have responsibilities, and he knows I have to attend to those.”

“I know you both managed to remain professional in the field while he was the Inquisitor,” Mae acknowledged.

“But.”

She turned the force of her blue eyes on him and Dorian tried not to squirm.  “He’s not a mage.”

And there it was.  Dorian had always known that being together with Theo in Tevinter would be difficult.  Most of his concerns were based on Theo’s run as the Inquisitor, when he’d practically ruled the world, and taken down more than a few Tevinter Magisters.  There had been no doubt the Imperium considered him dangerous, and would do so until convinced otherwise.  Dorian had been so focused on the dangers of having The Inquisitor in Tevinter with him; he’d completely overlooked the one thing that made their relationship completely taboo, even more than the fact they were both men, or that Theo was a Southerner.

Dorian was a Magister, and he had been a magical prodigy.  His raw ability had been impressively honed into finessed skill.  He descended from the Dreamers.  In the eyes of Tevinter society it was bad enough that he refused to just suck it up and miserably do his duty like everyone else in his station.  But that he loved a soporati…

“I’m sorry, Dorian.”  Mae gave him a sidelong glance.  “I understand, believe me.”

He cleared his throat and blinked to clear his vision.  “I know you do.  Thank you.”  It didn’t really make him feel any better.  And he felt even worse when Theo appeared at the entrance to the conservatory in the same loose trousers he’d worn the night before, and a sleeveless shirt.  His dark hair brushed the collar of his shirt and a few strands fell in his face.  He brushed them away and a pang twisted in Dorian’s gut.

“I’m not interrupting…?” Theo leaned against the doorframe.

Dorian shook his head and got up.  He held out a hand and Theo stepped into the room, shy at first, but eventually gaining his confidence again.  “Morning,  _ Amatus, _ ” he murmured, leaning in and giving Theo a light kiss.  “Maevaris and I were just discussing my agenda for the day.”

“I’ve also been looking through what you brought back from the Storm Coast,” Mae interjected, gesturing for Theo to join them.  “And if we could get a look at that lyrium you… diverted, that would be even better.”

“I’d just as soon have it off my hands, but I think it could end up being too dangerous if either one of you was found with it,” Theo said.  

“And you have experience handling this sort of substance, making it completely safe for you,” Dorian guessed.

Theo shook his head.  “Celares is working with the criminal underground to acquire and move this stuff.  He wants it kept secret.  If he happens upon it in the possession of another criminal, he deals with it in a predictable way.  If he finds out either one of you have it, then he becomes unpredictable.”  Dorian stared at him, mouth agape.  “I’ve been on ships and traveling caravans with Cardenio for the equivalent of months at this point, and now I’m all but living with the man.  I’ve got nothing else to do but train and listen to him talk about this sort of stuff.”

“So Dorian and I will go about business as usual then,” Mae said, and Theo nodded.

“The more you can find out on your level, it will help me down on mine.”

“And you always said you weren’t very good at your job,” Dorian teased, reaching out and lightly caressing Theo’s hand.

Theo turned his hand palm-up and clasped Dorian’s hand.  “I guess I was okay at it,” he said with a smile.  “It taught me a lot about the world and about myself.  When do you have to be at the Magisterium?”

“We’re meeting with the other Lucerni first.  They aren’t fully aware of the scope of all of this yet,” Mae explained.  “We thought it best to see just how far-reaching this is before involving anyone else.  Most of them just want to make Tevinter better, not sign on to take down mystery madmen.”

Theo chuckled.  “That likely became impossible the moment you asked me to be involved.  It seems that everyone gets more than they signed up for if I’m around.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing, love,” Dorian said, squeezing his hand.  “I’m certainly not complaining.”

“Not yet.”

Maevaris called for breakfast; by then Varric and Maranda had woken and joined them.  “Looking much better, Fletch,” Varric told him.  “I’m going to head down to the taverns today and see what the Merchant’s Guild is willing to tell me,” he announced.  “If I can offer them any favors in return for information, that would help,” he added with a wink at Maevaris.

She rolled her eyes.  “I’ll see what I can do, though I’d think you’d have some leverage with Kirkwall.”

“Just a suggestion.”

“Speaking of favors…”  Everyone glanced up at Maranda.  Dorian raised an eyebrow; she’d dressed in the Tevinter fashion, and her long, dark hair fell loose over her shoulders.  She would easily pass for a Tevinter, if not for her southern accent.  “Being a mage opens a few more doors for me,” Maranda said. “But if I could have some sort of token, proof that I’m a guest of Magister Tilani, I could spend the day doing some research in the library.”  She hunched her shoulders slightly and widened her green eyes.  Dorian found her resemblance to Theo, back when he was first named Inquisitor, uncanny.  “After all, it’s an honor for a southern Circle-raised mage like myself to be in the heart of the Imperium and have a chance to learn from the ancient Magisters’ works.”

Varric laughed and pounded his hand on the table.  Theo grinned and shook his head, and even Maevaris had to chuckle.  “I’ll send you with a signet ring.  That should be enough; doubtless there’s been much gossip about my guests.  The last time Varric showed up… how would you say it, Varric?”

“Shit went down,” Varric said.  “Probably the best way to put it.”

“You sure you still want to be part of this?” Theo asked his sister.  “You can still decide this is just a relaxing northern vacation.”

Maranda shook her head.  “No, I saw the same things you did, Theo.  If I can do something to put a stop to it, I’m going to.”

“It must be a Trevelyan thing,” Dorian mused, but he couldn’t resist smiling.

They had a plan, and agreed on a time to convene.  Dorian led Theo back to the bedroom and warded the door against intruders.  Theo pawed through the pile of clothing on the floor.  “Have you seen my cruddy clothes?” he asked Dorian.  “I thought I left them here.”

“A servant probably burned them.  They were in hideous condition.”

“They’re supposed to be.  I’m a… how did that one guy put it? Boil on the arse of Minrathous?”  He gave Dorian a wry grin.

“You’re just playing a role.”

“I know.”  Theo sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.  “But… even if I wasn’t, I’m a soporati.”

“It never bothered me that you weren’t a mage.  If anything, I rather love that difference between us,” Dorian told him.  He sat on the edge of the bed next to Theo and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.  “When we were with the Inquisition, you saw beyond my being a mage, and beyond my being from Tevinter.”

“I know.”  Theo rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder.  “But I think I’m starting to see now what you meant all those times you tried to tell me about how dangerous Minrathous could be.  I kept telling you it would be fine, that I didn’t care, but now that I’m here and seeing what you’re talking about, I think you may have been right.”

Dorian ran his fingers through Theo’s hair.  “I’m rarely wrong, this is true,” he admitted.  “It won’t always be like this.  Once we’ve taken down Celares in a manner befitting the great storytellers, and Bards are singing of our exploits, we’ll worry.  For now, let’s appreciate what time we do have.”

“And how much time is that?” Theo ran his hand along Dorian’s thigh.

“Just enough.”

The sad fact about ‘enough’ is that it never truly is just that, and long before Dorian was ready Theo had pulled on a shabby cloak over his ragged clothing, kissed him goodbye with a promise that he’d see him again soon, and disappeared through the basement.  Dorian would have loved to wallow in his loneliness, but the Lucerni awaited.

Mae called for her carriage to take them to the city center.  A light rain fell, and Dorian wondered how Theo was staying dry, and if he would be warm enough, and if he would stay out of harm’s way.  The carriage stopped with a jolt and he cleared his head.  Theo knew how to care for himself.  He had his part to play, as much as Dorian did.  

Maranda headed for the library, bearing a letter from Maevaris and promising that she would keep her head down and let them know what she’d come to discover over dinner.  Dorian followed Maevaris into the Magisterium and up to the conference room she’d booked for a Lucerni meeting prior to the convening.

Lucrezia was already there, staring out the window down onto the plaza.  Dorian only saw her profile, but her expression was as stormy as the sky outside.  Samus Aventus caught his eye and shook his head, so Dorian avoided Lucrezia and sat down across from him.  “Any word on the military funding budget?” he asked.

“They’re looking to increase it,” Aventus said.  “Again.  I would love to be a fly on the wall of those meetings, but alas, shapeshifting magic is beyond my skillset.”

“I wouldn’t mind actually going to Seheron and seeing just how bad it is for myself.”  Lucrezia turned around and faced them.  “You realize all we hear is what they tell us.  They could be feeding us any number of lies to get what they want.”

“That  _ is _ politics in the proverbial nutshell, Lu,” Aventus said.  He held up his hand and cast a subtle charm to neutralize the spike in her mana.  The blizzard that was about to fill the room dissipated into a puff of snowflakes that quickly melted.

Marcus Philius, Petra Solanus, and Maximus Decimus arrived then, and Maevaris joined.  “What’s our plan for today?” Philius asked.

Mae smiled.  “We’re bringing our motion forward again.  Imperium-wide, guaranteed Laetan education.”

“It won’t pass,” Lucrezia said.  She hadn’t yet sat down.

“We don’t need it to pass.  Yet,” Mae added hastily when Lucrezia raised her eyebrows and the room got a bit cooler.  “We just need to stall the budget for the military, and keep stalling it.”

“Why?”

“We need more time to find out  _ why _ they’re pushing this military agenda so hard, which is what this meeting is for.  We break into committees for the next few weeks until the next session, so between now and then we have some work to do.  Aventus, I have a friend visiting who, as it turns out, is not only a talented mage, but absolutely brilliant with numbers.  I’d love it if you could work with her to see what you can figure out about the budgets.”

Aventus nodded. “Follow the money.  Yes.”

“Lucrezia, I need you and Philius to do what you can to follow up with the Publicans.  They’ll trust you, Lu.”  Lucrezia wasn’t happy about it, but she nodded.  Solanus, Decimus, you’re both on imports and exports, right?  What’s being discussed there?”

“Following the money,” Petra Solanus echoed.

Mae turned her gaze on Dorian, and he knew just from the slight quirk of her lips and the way her eyes narrowed just a bit that he was not going to like it, and that she was going to owe him something fierce.  “Dorian, there’s someone on the military budgeting committee that would be  _ delighted _ if you showed an interest in his work.”

Dorian groaned and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.  “What if I told you my work on the lyrium smuggling and regulation committee was vastly more important?”

She smiled.  “I’d tell you that I applied to take your place.  Given that your views didn’t necessarily align with the rest of your peers, Sylvester was happy to make the change.”

Dorian fixed her with a glare.   _ I’ll get you back, _ he thought, and she just smiled sweetly at him.  

They all filed out of the conference room after that and headed to the hearing chamber.  Most of the Magisterium’s business was conducted without the Publicanium on a regular basis, but ever since Carduelis had announced his resignation, Dorian was keenly aware of their absence.  He thought about what Theo had said about being a soporati: his presence was tolerated by the mage classes.  Even when it was all over, and Theo revealed who he truly was, that wouldn’t be enough for him to be accepted, regardless of his relationship with Dorian.  If anything, Dorian stood to lose his credibility for loving a soporati.  Not even Lucrezia’s family, which had produced a mage and had considerable wealth had been spared.

The members of the military finance committee filed in and sat close to the floor.  Dorian surveyed his new colleagues and wondered how many of them knew he would be joining them soon.  Augustus Virnius was a jowly man: not old, but certainly not young, and certainly not aged very well.  Vidia Salvana had a matriarchal quality to her, but rarely spoke and Dorian suspected it was just her deep purse that kept her in her position.  Octavian Arcavius’s father had been killed in a fall from a dracolisk at a polo exhibition just after Dorian arrived in Tevinter, and Octavian was barely of age.  He was clearly out of his element.  And Tanicus Thrassea just looked bored.  Somewhere in the loge Dorian was sure Titus Magnus was glaring at him.

“In light of increased hostilities on Seheron,” Virnius began, and next to Dorian, Lucrezia let out an audible sigh.  “The committee on military finance not only proposes increasing the taxes on properties within the Imperium; but instituting a draft of able-bodied residents too…”

Augustus Virnius droned on, but it was impossible to hear him over the cacophony that erupted in the room.  Lucrezia jumped out of her seat and shouted something, while Maevaris just leaned forward, eyes narrowed as she tried to hear Virnius over the din.  It was a far cry from the reaction to Carduelis essentially dissolving the Publicanium.  Dorian had to wonder if this proclamation had anything to do with Carduelis.

It looked like they didn’t have to plan to stall the vote after all; it would stall itself, thanks to the sheer chaos that surrounded Dorian and his Lucerni colleagues.  He tried to block out some of the noise and noticed no one was paying attention.  Maybe that was the point all along: create enough chaos that no one would think straight.

Maybe  _ that  _ was politics in a nutshell.


	28. Following the Money

#  Chapter 28: Following the Money

At first Maranda’s “poor southern mage” act had been the subject of scrutiny and amusement by the mages running the great library associated with the Minrathous Circle.  Initially she had thought she was through with the Circle; but here, “Circle” was simply synonymous with magical university.  Mages here valued training and learning, not as a means of safety for themselves and the populace; but as a means of honing their skills and making magic truly serve them.

Now the librarians let her be, and the spirits that returned the books had learned not to approach her without warning; the first time it happened she’d squealed in surprise, bringing a librarian running. She’d almost had to answer some very awkward questions about what a “poor southern mage” was doing researching the Magisterium’s accounts for the last few years.  So long as she didn’t draw attention to herself, no one bothered her.

She found the research and the number crunching enjoyable, particularly when compared to the Deep Roads expedition, subsequent sea voyage, and dusty, muddy road trip. And, she could be doing what Theo was doing, living down in the catacombs and sewers, begging a living.  She felt a little guilty about that, but only a little.  There was a lot to be said for having the boring job in this whole mess.

She finished copying down the last few columns of numbers before rolling her papers up and shoving them into the shoulder bag she’d brought today.  It would be another late night as she and Maevaris worked to assemble the puzzle pieces that Dorian, Theo, and the other Lucerni were bringing in.

Outside, globes of soft orange light lit the streets.  She thought of the copied contents of her bag and nerves flitted about in her stomach, but this was the uptown section of Minrathous.  The worst crimes occurring up here usually involved a slit purse by a brazen thief with a deathwish.  Theo and Cardenio kept the Watch and the rest of the criminal underworld busy enough these days, if the morning reports were any indication.  A week had become a fortnight, and already word of “Le Gauche” spread.  A slight smile tugged at her lips: what would their parents say if they knew just what Theo had gotten them into?

“Didn’t your hostess tell you that Minrathous is dangerous?”

Maranda turned to see a man, bulky for a mage, leaning on his staff and giving her an amused grin that did not touch his cold eyes.  “I suppose you mean to make it less dangerous for me?” she asked, willing her heartbeat to slow down.  She pulled back on her mana, but kept it within reach.

“Titus Magnus.” He stepped forward.  “Magister Tilani is known for keeping odd company, but at least one of her visitors is interesting, lady…”

“Ellandra.  And thank you, but I am expected.  Thank you for your concern, Lord Magnus.”

“ _ Magister _ Magnus,” he corrected her, still grinning, and her skin prickled.  “Please, allow me to walk with you.  While this isn’t nearly as dangerous as the docks, I think my company may dissuade unsavory sorts.”

_ Dissuade yourself then, _ Maranda thought but merely smiled and began walking, her fingers tightening around the shoulder strap of her bag.  

“I can’t help but notice you’ve spent time in the library of late.”

“Well, in a city as dangerous as Minrathous, what else is there for a southern Circle mage to do?” she asked.  “May as well learn as much as I can from one of the great magical learning centers.”  She did believe what she was saying; she was learning a lot, and rather liked the feeling that being in the Minrathous Circle gave her.  It was inviting and natural, unlike the Ostwick Circle.

“What have you learned?”  He walked closer to her, crowding her toward the buildings with his bulk. “Anything of interest?”

“Plenty.  The magical history is rich and interesting.”

“I’m sure you’re finding a great deal of interesting information.”  He took a long stride and stepped out in front of her so she nearly bumped into him, and when she attempted to move around him he maneuvered his staff to keep her from moving away.  “Lady Ellandra.  Perhaps because you’re a visitor here, you are unaware that it is illegal to remove material from the library.”

“I took nothing.  The materials I brought were my own, and I returned the tomes I was using.”  She stood her ground and stared up at him.  He may have been another mage, but his attitude was no different than the templars in her Circle.  “I am here as a guest of Magister Tilani and bear her token.”

He sighed.  “What’s in the bag?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Magister.”

He reached for her bag, but she expected it and maneuvered out of the way.  She ran, silently cursing the way the layers of her coat and skirts caught around her legs.  She ducked into an alley and right into open arms.  Maranda cried out in surprise, but a dirty hand covered her mouth.  “Shh.  We’ll take the bag,” someone said, and the strap slipped off her shoulder.  “Le Gauche thanks you for your donation,” he said more loudly and then shoved her back out into the street.

“Where’d you stash it?” Titus Magnus asked, storming toward her.

Maranda cast a barrier around herself, as much to let out the adrenalin-driven mana surge as to protect herself.  “It was stolen from me,” she snapped, spitting out the foul taste of the dirty hand.

“Magister Magnus, this is highly unbecoming.”  The soft, cultured voice was strong enough to stop Magnus in his tirade, and Maranda peered through the haze of her barrier.  “My lady, I apologize for my colleague’s unbecoming behavior.”  The tall man had with soft dark hair pulled back from his face, showing off his  liquid, dark, deep-set eyes.  His royal blue robe offset his olive-toned skin beautifully, even in the dim light of the street.  “Tanicus Thrassea.”  He nodded in greeting and kept a respectful distance from her.

“Ellandra Bright.  Guest of Magister Tilani.”

“Yes, and as a guest you should be treated more respectfully.  Magnus, do leave the crime solving to the Watch?”  He turned and fixed Titus Magnus with a reproachful stare until the bulkier man huffed and turned away, but not without one last baleful glare at Maranda.  He spat on the ground not far from her feet.  Then Tanicus turned back to her.  “Are you alright, lady?”

She gave a shaky smile and let the shield dissipate.  “I am, thank you.  My bag was stolen, but luckily it was just writing materials.  Nothing that can’t be replaced, and nothing thieves would find useful other than to resell for some coin.”

“Ah yes.  Well, my apologies all the same.  May I see you safely to Tilani’s?”

“As long as you really are going to do just that,” Maranda told him, and he smiled.  

Tanicus kept the conversation light as he guided her through the Minrathous streets, keeping to the well-lit areas.  “My father is giving another lecture in a series on Minrathous’s role in the worship of the Old God Razikale this weekend.  Perhaps you’d find that of interest?” he asked as they approached Maevaris’s gate.  “You know, the Minrathous Circle used to be a temple dedicated to her worship.”

It was impossible to miss the way his eyes sparkled with excitement when he spoke of the lecture.  “Perhaps I will.  Thank you for the invitation, and for assisting me,” she said, and slipped through the gate.  “Good night, Magister Thrassea.”

Once inside the gate, and once she was sure that Tanicus had left, she headed not for the front entrance, but the back gardens.  She found the vine-covered panel that slid open, and let Theo in.  “You can let Cardenio know I’m going to kill him the next time I see him.”  

Theo rolled his eyes and slipped her bag off his shoulder.  “He got you away from that lunk, didn’t he?”  Maranda sighed and picked up her bag.  “Is Dorian going to be there tonight?” he asked after a moment of strained silence.

“No.  He had something to do.  Don’t you two talk?”

“It’s dangerous.”

Maranda sighed again.  “You know what?  You’re an adult.  He’s an adult.  You can both act like adults.  Communicate with one another.  It’s dangerous enough without me playing the messenger, especially when you have that fancy crystal.  You know what?  Go over to his place and spend some time up there, if him not being here is going to make you so damned mopey.”

“I only asked…”

Maranda hefted her back on her shoulder.  “I’ve had a rough night so far.  If you want to come in, you can.  If not, be careful going back out there.”

“Fine.”  Theo spun around and left the garden, and Maranda slid the panel closed behind him.

Inside, Mae’s staff had prepared a warm meal, and Maranda flopped down on a sofa.  Her head pounded and her bag felt like it weighed fifty pounds.  Maybe she would avoid going to the library for the next few days.  

“Maranda, I’m glad--”  Maevaris stopped when she saw Maranda sprawled on the couch. “Perhaps we can take a break for tonight?”

Maranda sat up and shook her head.  “No, that’s fine, Mae.”  She reiterated what had happened in the streets.

“Dammit.  Magnus is an oaf and a bully, and I don’t know what he’s thinking he’ll accomplish with this,” Maevaris said.  “He targeted Dorian when Dorian was just a visitor as well.  I don’t know what he thinks he’s protecting by harassing visitors.”

“Nor do I.  But speaking of Dorian, he and my brother need to leave me out of the communication loop.  It’s one thing doing research, but another running messages between a criminal and a Magister.  That and Theo is insufferable when he gets mopey,” she added.

“Most men are, darling,” Maevaris said with a smile.  “I’ll get Varric and we can have dinner and then look at what you’ve found?”

Maranda nodded and went to change into something more comfortable.  Dinner turned into a working meal, discussing what Varric had learned from his Merchant’s Guild contacts over the last few days.  Even just the proposal of a draft had driven up some prices on goods, leaving the dwarven residents of Minrathous unthrilled.  They’d raised the price of lyrium to make a point, and in retaliation the committee on lyrium regulation had drafted up a bill to cap the lyrium tax.  “That was Dorian’s old committee,” Mae said ruefully.  “I don’t think he’d have been able to stop them though.”

Varric pored over Maranda’s research: copied budgets from past sessions that he scanned with a practiced eye.  “Too bad Tiny’s burned out on Seheron,” he lamented.  “He’d get us intel.  He’d tell us where the money’s going.”

“Lucrezia!” Maevaris exclaimed, sitting up straighter.  Maranda and Varric each gave her a blank look.  “Lucrezia Aureos.  Her brother enlisted.  Enlistees are promised commissions.  If we can find out if families are receiving the commissions, then we can figure out where the money’s going.”

“And if they’re not getting it?” Varric asked.

“Then we know where the money is  _ not _ going, which helps the Lucerni case against the corruption,” Maevaris said.  

“But see these older budgets?” Maranda shuffled until she found a page.  “This one is from the last major Qunari influx on Seheron.  It’s still a large budget, but smaller than the one before that.  I’d love to find out just how badly Theo pissed off the Qunari to make them want to take it out on Tevinter as badly as this budget seems to indicate.”

“I didn’t realize accounting was such a popular school of magic down south,” Mae teased.  

“Magic is meant to serve man,” Maranda quoted.  “It can’t do everything, useful as it is.  Besides, numbers aren’t complicated.  Politics?  Yeah, politics are complicated.  I’ll stick to crunching the numbers for you.”  In the end, numbers made sense, and if they didn’t, there was a reason for it.  Politics were made up of people, who often did not make sense, and there was no good reason for it.


	29. Le Gauche

#  Chapter 29: Le Gauche

Theo’s left wrist itched something fierce, but he ignored it and kept his focus on the thin and pinched-looking woman standing in the doorway of the squat apartment building.  She nodded and said something before leaving, flanked by two bodyguards.  He imagined his hand clenching the grip of his bow, but the metal hand didn’t exert any more pressure than it had been.  Theo’s eyes and arrow followed the woman down the street and out of sight.

The orange glow lamps only lit the streets of the upper city, and the further down one traveled, the darker the streets became.  Down here, where most middle-class soporati lived, actual lanterns hung from street posts and outside of businesses and dwellings.  But the building Theo watched had no lantern.

He slung his bow back over his shoulder and glanced down.  He hopped onto the ledge and caught himself on the edge of a shutter.  His bow tapped against the darkened window, and he held his breath, but nothing came of it. Theo balanced along the ledge outside of the windows and tiptoed to the corner, where he saw another roof he could leap to.  He took a breath and launched himself off toward the roof; it wasn’t a steep incline, and he caught himself easily.  A few steps to the edge of that, and it was just a short hop to the top of the trash bin below.

Theo landed lightly in the alleyway, and kept to the shadows as he headed toward the darkened tenement house.  Other night creatures stalked the alleys: rats, bugs, desperate thieves and prostitutes.  Another dark shadow across the way kept pace with him.  He approached the building and sidled into the narrow alley between it and the next building over.  The muddy ground stunk, but Theo had grown accustomed to the reek of the streets by now.

Cardenio approached from around the back corner.  He pointed toward the window, and Theo nodded.  Cardenio knelt in the alley muck and braced his hands on his knee.  Theo hoisted himself up and tried the window.  It slid open far too easily.  He leaned his left side against the building and held up a finger to Cardenio.  He peered into the dimly lit room and felt along the window ledge with deft fingers.  He found a thin line of wire, reached into his belt pocket, and pulled out a tiny pair of snips Varric had slipped to him the last time he was at Maevaris’s.  Theo found the wire again, snipped it, and hauled himself in through the window.  He rolled onto the floor and stood up quickly, looking around and listening.  Nothing but the thud of his pulse in his ears.

He leaned out and offered his arm to Cardenio, who used it to pull himself up and into the room.  A scream broke the silence, and Theo’s heart caught in his throat.  He held his breath.  Another scream.

“I think we’re going in that direction,” Cardenio whispered wryly.  “After you.”

Theo pulled out one of his blades and held it to his false hand.  The rune activated and the metallic fingers wrapped around the grip.  “You may want to steer clear of this.  It’s untested,” he muttered to Cardenio.  He adjusted his arm so the metal forearm frame was against his body with the knife blade pointed outward.  

Dim lanterns hung in each room, giving just enough light to see the way.  The floors were scuffed and dirty and cobwebs hung in the corners.  Theo saw some furniture: a sagging sofa, a couple of chairs with broken arms or cracked seats.  The scream sounded again, full of pain and terror and Theo longed to rush into a fight.  But he kept his steps quiet and even and his eyes and ears alert.

The last room at the end of the narrow hall was small and empty, and the closet held nothing of interest.  Cardenio edged past Theo and squatted down.  He dug his blade in between the floorboards.  Sweat rolled down his face as he worked, and he didn’t even startle when another shriek of fear and pain and wordless begging sounded from almost below their feet.

The boards creaked and he applied a bit more leverage with his knife.  He got his fingers into the gap and lifted, prying with his knife down a line only he could see, before lifting up a panel made of several boards fitted together and revealing a ladder down.  “I’m guessing this is not the main entrance or egress,” he said, peering down the narrow hole.  “Best two out of three?”

Theo rolled his eyes.  “Move.  I’ll go first.”  He stepped down, careful not to catch his knife on the rungs of the ladder, and all but holding his breath to keep quiet.  He rather hoped he didn’t have to climb back  _ up _ this thing; climbing and descending a ladder one-armed was not easy.  He would just add it to the list.

He heard muffled voices and peered through the crack in the door at the bottom of the ladder.  Two humans and one dwarf were at work moving about the room and murmuring to one another; Theo couldn’t catch quite what they were saying, but it didn’t matter.  There was one human, naked from the waist up, bound to an upright board.  One of the men had shoved a metal device into his mouth, keeping it wide open.  A leather strap kept his head immobilized.  Another sharpened a knife.  The air held an acrid scent, as of burnt meat, that made Theo’s stomach turn.

The one with the knife stood and Theo kicked in the door without thinking up any strategy other than stopping what he was seeing.  “ _ Che cazzo, _ what are you doing?” Cardenio snapped, but he’d thrown a knife at the dwarf and was already going after the man with the knife.  

Theo slammed his left side into the other man, turning to drive the point of his blade into the man’s chest.  The man spun out of the way, pulling a knife of his own out of a leg holster.  Theo drew his main blade and fell into the rhythm of jabbing, slicing, ducking, weaving… One of the slavers screamed and that acrid char smell filled the air again, and the screaming ended abruptly.

Theo made the mistake of turning to see what Cardenio had done, and hot pain sliced down his left shoulder; he felt it all the way down his left arm, through his missing hand and fingers.  Blood ran over his scarred elbow stump and coated the metal prosthesis bright red.  The leather straps soaked it up.  Theo went for him with his own blade, but the slaver had the advantage.

Cardenio grabbed the man from behind, pressing his forearm into the man’s throat until he fell to his knees.  “Explain,” he said.  The slaver tried to shake his head and struggled.  Cardenio sighed and moved with fierce quickness.  A crack resounded in the room, and then it was quiet but for the whimpers of the three slaves.  He glared at Theo, who was trying to staunch the bleeding, but not having much luck.  He set about freeing the man bound to the board, and then knelt next to the one on the floor.  “ _ Tutto bene,” _ he said softly.  Blood smeared his face and chest.  The third slave was bound and gagged on the floor, and Cardenio released him as well.  “Are you able to tell me what this  _ stronzo _ would not?”

The man who’d been tied to the board rubbed his jaw.  “I’m Alecto, and that’s my cousin Dario,” he said, pointing at the bloodied man on the floor.  He knelt at his side.  “I am sorry, Dar,” he murmured.  “So sorry.”

“Romulus,” the other man offered.  “Who are you?”

“I’m Chanter.  He’s Le Gauche.  He’s also fucking bleeding.  Dammit,” he growled.  “We can talk this over when we get back.”

“Back where?” Alecto asked.

“Our lair.”  Cardenio paused and looked at the ceiling.  “That… sounded more impressive in my mind.  Let’s go.”

* * *

  
  


“Thank you,” Alecto murmured to Theo as they ghosted through the back alleys and darkest pathways of Minrathous, headed toward a catacombs entrance.  “If you hadn’t broke in when you did…”

Theo nodded and made himself smile; his arm was on fire and hadn’t hurt like this since he’d had the Anchor.  He swore even his fake fingers hurt. “I have a problem with thinking before I act,” he replied in a low voice.  “Namely I don’t do it.”

“Le Gauche,” Alecto said.  “Not just ‘left’, but also awkward.”  He smiled.  He had a split lip and the corners of his mouth were bruising from the device that had pried his mouth open.

Awkward.  Theo sighed and dropped his eyes to the bloody prosthesis.  He wanted to be angry with Cardenio, but he couldn’t be.  It was true.  He was awkward and out of his league, and Cardenio’s attempts to build him up as a newcomer to the Minrathous criminal underground felt ridiculous.

He didn’t know if it was blood loss or fatigue, but he felt ready to keel over.  He managed to remain upright and moving forward as he and Cardenio led the way through the winding sewers and then off into the catacombs.  At last they turned a corner and entered their torchlit alcove.

It was still the underground catacombs, but Theo, Cardenio, Hector, Max and Paul had made headway on turning it into something roughly habitable.  Burning torches kept the rats at bay, and a steady influx of supplies was neatly organized at one end of the room.  The glowing blue crates of lyrium sat at the center of it, and they avoided it as much as possible.  Cardenio made for the supply stash.

Hector emerged from the shadows and his eyes widened at the sight of Theo’s injury.  Cardenio sighed and kicked a stone; it clattered across the floor.  “That needs to be stitched up, and you’ll need something to stop the infection.  I may need to head back out.  Think you can avoid getting into trouble?”  This last question dripped from Cardenio’s mouth like venom.

“I get it, I fucked up and I deserve what I get.” Theo leaned against a stone wall and slid to the floor.  Much more comfortable.

“You’re the linchpin of this whole operation,” Cardenio retorted.  “What?” he said a little too sharply, as Hector tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a paper.  Cardenio skimmed over it.  “Really?”  Hector nodded, eyes wide and earnest.  “Then let’s go.  Don’t die,” he told Theo.  “Make sure he doesn’t die?” he asked Alecto and the others.

Theo didn’t know where they were off to and he didn’t care.  He reached under his shirt and clutched the sending crystal in his bloody hand.  His gold wedding band was hardly discernible under the layers of dirt and blood.  “I need you, Dor,” he whispered to himself, to the crystal, to the Maker, even.  

Alecto sat next to his cousin.  “Why were those people doing this to us?” he asked.

Theo looked up and over at him.  “How did you end up there?”

“Dari and I decided to enlist.  Go to Seheron.  At least get the commissions sent home to help out our families, you know?”

“That’s what I’m hearing is happening,” Theo acknowledged.

“I gave my information,” Romulus said.  “I was assigned to a barracks, given dinner, told I’d be headed out for training the next day.  I don’t remember anything other than suddenly realizing I was tied up in that torture chamber.”  He shuddered and picked at a hangnail.  His hands trembled.

“I think maybe I was drugged,” Alecto said slowly.  

Theo winced as another spasm of pain coursed through his upper arm.  “Possible.  Are you all soporati?”

Alecto laughed.  “You think I’d be sending my ass to Seheron if I was able to work magic?  Please.  My family would probably be much better off if I could just wiggle my fingers and make fire happen.  Or whatever mages do.”

Theo nodded and decided to blame the discomfort in his gut on his injury, and not on the fact that he was married to a mage; not just any mage, a Magister and an Altus.   _ Dorian’s trying to improve things, _ he reasoned.  

“Any chance we had at any rights flew the coop when that coward Carduelis stepped down.” Romulus spat.  “He was the leader of the Publicanium,” he explained.  “You’re not from around here are you.”

Theo saw no point lying.  “No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you in Minrathous, if you don’t have to be?”

So many answers to that question, and Theo didn’t know which one was the real reason in his own mind.  “I’m sure no one thought to tell you where you were heading.”

“Seheron?”

He shook his head.  “See that crate over there?  That’s the purest raw lyrium in existence.  It was mined by slaves in the Deep Roads under the Storm Coast in Ferelden.  Slaves who’d had their tongues cut out, on the order of someone named Celares.  You see that kind of shit and tell me you’ll just walk away and let it keep happening.”

Everyone went quiet and Theo’s eyes drifted closed.  Then Cardenio was slapping his cheek and he blinked the grit out of his eyes.  Hector knelt beside him.  He uncorked a heavy bottle and the pungent smell of whiskey cut into Theo’s nose.  Hector poured some out on a rag and pressed it against Theo’s arm.

It stung at first, and Theo clenched his jaw to keep from crying out.  Hector dabbed at it some more while Cardenio threaded a needle.  Hector took a swig from the bottle, his eyes closing for a moment, but he then pressed the bottle into Theo’s hands and turned away.  

Theo took a deep pull that left his head spinning, but made it hard to feel the pain.  The alcohol was smooth and warm and suddenly he felt sick when he realized Hector couldn’t taste it.  “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.  He squinted at the bottle:  _ Aureos Distillery _ .  This was the same whiskey Dorian had shared with him one of their last nights together.

Cardenio finished up stitching and went over the area with one last whiskey wipedown.  Then he helped Theo drink some water and recline in his bedroll.  “We need to discuss improving our strategies if this sort of thing is going to become the norm,” he said, but he just sounded tired.  Theo hadn’t stopped to think how this could be affecting Cardenio, too.

“I just want to do the right thing,” he said, staring at the blurry and tilting ceiling.

“Sometimes being patient and living to see the next day, so you can  _ keep  _ doing the right thing, is what’s right.”

Cardenio was correct; but it only made Theo feel worse.


	30. Bad Timing

# Chapter 30: Bad Timing

“Dorian!  This is a surprise.  Not an unpleasant one,” Tanicus said quickly, rising and offering Dorian the seat across from him.  

Dorian thanked him and took the offered seat.  “I was passing through and thought if you had a moment, I had a few questions,” he said.  “What are you drinking?”

Tanicus examined his mug.  “Some Antivan concoction.  It’s quite good; I’d love to know how they foam the milk so perfectly.  Would you care for one?”  Dorian nodded.  “What can I assist you with today?”

“Well…”  Dorian sifted through his mind.  So many things he was trying to keep organized, so many things making it hard to focus: not the least of which was the news that a slavers’ den had been discovered, with three dead slavers in it.  Theo’s work, no doubt.  “You’re on the military finance committee.” May as well be forthright.  “You strike me as more of an academic than a warmonger.”  Not the most eloquent way to put it, but the extra hours of research and espionage were starting to take their toll on his sleep regimen.

Luckily Tanicus took it well.  “It was an inherited position.  And before you remind me that my father is also an academic, he’d headed up the commission on academics until the Qunari redoubled their efforts on Seheron the time before this most recent attack.  You remember how bad _that_ was.”

Dorian only sort of did; he hadn’t been paying much attention.  He’d been too busy studying with Alexius, carousing with handsome young men, and looking for some sort of purpose before his family had betrayed him.

Tanicus suddenly cocked his head to the side.  “Why do you do it, Dorian?” he asked.  “You have more power in your thumb than most of the Magisters do in their entire being, and the Pavus fortune and lineage to back it up.  You could accomplish anything, so why work on the hopeless causes?”

Dorian thought he should be offended, but Tanicus’s tone was one of curiosity, and it implied that most others in the Magisterium thought the Lucerni agenda hopeless.  “Perhaps _because_ I could accomplish anything, and I’m arrogant enough to believe that extends to so-called hopeless causes,” he said at last.  “I suppose I just want to make the Imperium better.”

“Better for whom though?” Tanicus asked.  “Better is subjective, when it comes down to it.  What’s better for some isn’t better for all.”

“How can providing for the education of anyone born a mage be _worse_ for the Imperium?” Dorian asked.  

“Oh, I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Tanicus said quickly.  “But the Virniuses of our world don’t see that; they see upstarts knocking them out of power, competing for what they think they earned, when it’s just been handed to them throughout the generations.”  He sighed.  “Do you ever wish we could go back to the days when Tevinter was truly great?”

“Great is subjective, when it comes down to it,” Dorian retorted, and Tanicus’s lips twitched in a small smile.  “Great for whom?  The people the Imperium subjugated?  The elves whose way of life was destroyed?”

“If you argued half as passionately on the Senate floor, you might convince someone,” Tanicus told him with a grin.  “It comes down to what you truly believe in and what you’re willing to pour your energy into.”

“And that is why you always look _so_ excited when Virnius is droning on about draft bills and military budgets?”

“If showing up and promoting a military budget that will help us achieve some peace so I can get back to my studies, then I will do just that,” Tanicus replied.  

Dorian’s beverage arrived, and he sipped it, then swore when it burned his tongue.  He channeled a bit of cooling magic through the mug, then tried again.  Much better.  The coffee taste was strong, and the cream foamy and just sweet enough.  “I may be able to help you there.”  Tanicus leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow, inviting Dorian to continue.  “Though I’d rather finish my drink first, and then perhaps we can take the conversation somewhere less public.”

“Of course.  Tell me, Dorian, have you ever read the biography of Archon Darinius?  His mother Livia was a _fascinating_ woman, and subject of my father’s next lecture.”

Dorian hadn’t, and even though he’d planned to go to the elder Thrassea’s next lecture with Maranda Trevelyan, he found it was nice to listen to another Magister talk about something other than politics for once.  They agreed to meet at Dorian’s later that evening.  Dorian thanked him for the coffee and hurried back to his apartments to alert Gavia that he would be having company.  He passed through the south bazaar, but didn’t see a familiar hunched figure begging.

He entered his apartment and rang for Gavia.  She appeared from one of the bedrooms, wiping her hands on an apron.  Odd; perhaps she’d been dusting.  “I’m to have some company this evening, Gavia,” he told her.  “Shockingly enough, I know,” he added when she tilted her head to the side, looking confused.

“I see,” she said, and looked behind her, suddenly looking afraid.  Dorian felt a chill in his spine.  He pulled from the Fade.  “I think I’ll only be requiring light refreshments for this evening.  Perhaps some figs and olives?  You know that lovely little stall across the piazza, yes?”  She nodded.  “I can survive on my own, it’s alright,” he told her playfully, and ushered her toward the door.

“Be careful, Master Pavus,” she said softly, before slipping out of the apartment.

Dorian cast wards of silencing and locked his door.  “Alright, Magnus.  Out,” he snarled.  His voice echoed throughout his apartment.  The sending crystal around his neck chose that moment to buzz against his skin and he mentally cursed Theo’s terrible timing.  When Titus Magnus did not emerge from any of the rooms down the hall, Dorian called the Fade spirits forward and readied a blast of kinetic energy in the palm of his hand.  He flung open doors, letting the spirits go first, and when they found nothing he moved on down the hall.

One of the doors creaked open before he could get to it, and Dorian hit it with the blast of energy.  He heard a thud and a crash and sent in a spirit of paralyzing fear to hold Magnus in place.  “I’ve had enough of your _kaffas,_ ” he snapped, striding in and stopping short when he saw Theo huddled in the corner, staring up at the hazy spirit, but not really seeing it.  His green eyes were wide with terror, his skin pale beneath the slight sunburn, and his hand shaking.  

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum,”_ Dorian swore.  He hastily called back the spirit and rushed to Theo’s side.  “ _Amatus_.  Theodane.”  He shook him by the shoulder and pulsed a tiny bit of healing magic into him; Dorian was no healer, but what little he could do to calm and comfort, he gave.  “I’m sorry, love.”  He wrapped his arms around Theo.  He ignored the stink of the street the best he could.  “I thought you were someone else.”

The tension slowly seeped out of Theo and his shivering abated.  “I get that a lot.  I’m sorry, Dor, I just needed to see you.”

“How did you get in?” Dorian asked, helping him to his feet.

Theo shrugged.  “Either you have shitty locks or I’m an amazing lockpicker.”

Dorian shook his head.  “I usually ward my doors.  Only certain people can come through when I’m not home.  Others… well.  It’s usually unpleasant if they try.”

“I’m an exception to nearly every rule?” Theo asked.  “Honestly, I don’t know.  I just knew I had to see you.”

“You could have let me know first.”

Theo sighed and tucked his hair behind his ears.  “I never know when it’s alright to use the crystal.  I don’t know where you are, and if it’s safe.  It’s almost… no, it _is_ worse being here in the same city with you, and unable to do anything about it.”

Theo was prone to fits of pique, but Dorian had learned to read them, and this was more than Theo being petty.  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly, cupping Theo’s scruffy face in the palm of his hand.  Theo swallowed and nodded.  “Want to get cleaned up, too?”  It was a rhetorical question, but Dorian couldn’t help asking.  He knew he had to be mindful of the time; it would be too easy to lose track and just shut himself in with his husband for the night.

He helped Theo strip out of his clothes and shuddered suddenly.  “What happened to you?”

“Occupational hazard.  On the upside, at least it’s not my good arm?”

Dorian threw a fresh towel at him.  “Wash up.  I’m not kissing you again until you’re clean.”  He headed into his bedroom and picked up a book he’d been trying to read for the last several nights, but the thought of Theo in the next room distracted him. He tried to picture Theo living here, in this apartment with him: sharing meals, waking up in the morning stealing the covers.  The mundane sorts of domestic, married life things they’d once kidded themselves into believing they could have together.

At last Theo came in with a towel haphazardly wrapped about his waist, clutching it as it slipped over one hip.  His wet hair dripped and hung in his face.  The gash on his arm was efficiently and neatly stitched at least, but it would add to the scar collection he had going on his left side.  “Thank you,” Theo said, standing in the doorway.  “I won’t make a habit of this.  Last night was rough.”

“That slaver den across the city?” Dorian held out a hand, and Theo shuffled over.  “And I wouldn’t mind you making a habit of this.  If anything, I’d enjoy it if we could just dispense with the masquerade, and settle down.”

“I don’t think your friend Maevaris would like that.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged and toyed with the edge of the towel.  “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

Dorian took Theo’s hand.  “She doesn’t dislike you.  She’s grateful for the work you’re doing.”

“But…”

“She looks at us and only sees heartache,” Dorian confessed, and felt a sharp pang in the pit of his stomach.  “She sees a repeat of herself and Thorold.  She followed her heart and loved the man who was right for her, but wrong by Tevinter standards, and it broke her heart.  Aside from not wanting either of us to die, she’d also love to see us avoid heartache, though at this point that’s impossible.”

“Thanks for being honest, at least.” Theo stared at his lap.  “I’ve always loved that about you.  You tell me what I need to hear.”

Dorian leaned in and nuzzled his ear.  He felt Theo smile slightly as his mustache tickled his earlobe.  “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, but I--”

“No, I love you.  I tell you what you need to hear, and you need to hear that right now.  I love you and I appreciate what you’re doing, and worry about you every moment of the day and the night.”  He kissed Theo, right where his jaw and neck met, and Theo shivered, the way he always did.  “Tell me what happened?” Dorian prompted, lying back and pulling Theo with him.  Theo rested his head on Dorian’s chest, and Dorian’s fingers worked at untangling his damp hair.

Theo told Dorian what had happened, and while Dorian wasn’t surprised by Theo rushing in without a strategy, he didn’t like it.  “You’re in Minrathous, _Amatus_.  This is unfamiliar territory; what if there had been mages?  Your luck isn’t endless, and when you act like it is, it worries me.”

“If I enjoyed what I was doing, I wouldn’t be breaking into your home and scaring your housekeeper all in a quest to find some comfort from you.”  When he sighed his breath was warm through Dorian’s shirt.  “Dor… whatever this Celares is trying to accomplish with this lyrium and these slaves… it can’t be good.  We’re doing what we can to root him or her out, and things just keep getting worse, or going nowhere.”  He reached up a hand and ran his thumb over Dorian’s cheek.  “I’m so ready to be done with this and just be with you.”

The last time Theo sounded so defeated, the green mark had been eating his left arm from the inside out, feeding on Theo’s energy and life.  “We’re doing what we can as well,” Dorian reassured him. “Your sister is proving to be excellent at research, and politically Maevaris and I have a new strategy.”

“I trust you, Dorian.  I know you’re doing what you can.  We all are.  It’s just so frustrating. I’m used to having all the Inquisition resources behind me.  Making do is hard to get used to.”  Dorian smiled, but stiffened suddenly when he heard the front door-- or rather the front door opening triggered a spell that alerted him to someone entering.  “Dor?”

He sat up, disengaging himself from Theo.  “Gavia is back.  I’m having company this evening,” he admitted.

“So that wasn’t a ruse to protect her from a perceived violent intruder?”

“It was not,” he confirmed  “A friend is coming by.  I have some things to discuss with him.   _Venhedis,_ Theodane, it’s not like that, stop pouting.”  He ran his hand through his hair.  “He’s another Magister.  I’m hoping speaking with him privately will yield some more information that will help the cause.”

Theo nodded without looking at Dorian.  He got up and the towel dropped from his hips.  He disappeared into the bathroom and came out a few minutes later.  His clothes were still wet when he began dressing.  Dorian sighed.  “Let me.”  He channeled heat at Theo’s pile of clothing, and in a moment they were dry.  Still stained with some blood and who knew what else, but Theo had done what he could to clean them up.  Theo didn’t say anything as he got dressed, and then headed for the balcony doors.  “Where do you think you’re going?” Dorian asked.

“Back where I belong.”

“Grow _up_ , Theodane,” Dorian snapped suddenly.  “You break into my apartment, demand my comfort and sympathy, mope about, make me worry, and then pout in a fit of pique because I’m having company over, who can help us move forward with all of this?  You think _I_ like being apart from _you_ ?  I don’t!  I hate it.  But I did what you needed me to do throughout the entire _fucking_ Inquisition.”

“Have fun tonight.  Love you.”  Theo disappeared over the side of the balcony.

Dorian swore and kicked a pillow that had been knocked on the floor, then swore again when he realized Theo had left his sending crystal pendant on the nightstand.  Accident?  Intentional?  Dorian didn’t know, and what was more troublesome was that he wouldn’t have put either past him.


	31. A Night on the Town

#  Chapter 31: A Night On the Town

Dorian scribbled off a quick note and had it sent across town to Maevaris, letting her know he had a meeting with Tanicus.  Not that he didn’t trust Tanicus, but the more they discovered and the more Theo and his friend Cardenio managed to stir up, the more Dorian thought precautions were a good idea.  

Gavia set out the refreshments on a sideboard in the sitting room before she left for the evening, and shortly after she’d gone, a sharp knock sounded.  Dorian sent out a simple spirit from the Fade with an easy request of it:  _ identify, _ he thought, and the spirit fluttered out through the door.  It came back and passed through him and back into the Fade, leaving Dorian with a series of impressions about his visitor.

He unlocked the door.  “Welcome to the Pavus dwelling, Magister Thrassea,” he said with a slight bow and a wave to invite Tanicus in.

“My family resides just across the bridge.  We never had need of the city apartments, though I find this area is quite lovely, if a bit austere.”  Tanicus entered, looking around.

Dorian shrugged.  “Most Magisters here have their primary homes elsewhere in the Imperium; the apartment serves a purpose.  Would you care for a drink?  Brandy, whiskey, wine?”  He opened the well-stocked liquor cabinet.  His father had always kept things stocked, and Dorian wondered if Halward had often entertained up here, or if the liquor was, like so much else that defined Halward, just for show.

“Never pegged you for a whiskey man, Dorian,” Tanicus said.  “Why not.  I’ll take a whiskey.”

“Best whiskey in the city, if not all of Thedas,” Dorian told him as he poured from the cut crystal decanter.  “Magister Aureos’s family distills.”

“The Laetan, no doubt the one behind your spirited efforts at education?”

“She is Laetan, yes, but her family is wealthy enough that they were able to apprentice her to a Magister, rather than have her try her luck as a page.”  Dorian handed Tanicus a glass of whiskey, pulsing an ice spell into the glass before Tanicus took it.  He did the same to his own glass, before taking a seat.

“You told me you had some information that might change my mind?” Tanicus began.

This of course reminded Dorian of Theo, who was sulking somewhere in the city right now, possibly with an infected wound, and without his crystal.  “It’s no secret, and in fact has been attempted to be used against me, that I helped head off the Qunari invasion attempt some months back.”  Tanicus nodded.  “The Inquisitor and his team, of which I was a part, put a stop to it, which likely leads many to believe that the Qunari are ramping up their efforts against the Imperium.  Eye for an eye, and all,” he said, with a slight smile when he thought about the Iron Bull.

“That does make sense,” Tanicus agreed.

“It does.  Unless you know that the Antaam did not sanction the Viddasala’s invasion.  She was working independently on her own crusade.  While her invading forces would have been impressive, and while her plan was solid, it was not approved by the Antaam, or any of the other ruling bodies.”

“You’re suggesting that Virnius is blowing the Seheron situation out of proportion,” Tanicus guessed, and Dorian nodded.  Tanicus took a sip. “This is fine, fine stuff,” he said with a slight shudder as the whiskey went down.  

“I’m not belittling the importance of Seheron or our need for forces there,” Dorian told him.  “Just suggesting that perhaps we can save ourselves some money, and some families some heartache, if the situation were to be investigated a bit more closely, and the budgets revisited.”  He sipped his own drink, thinking ruefully of Hector Aureos trying to wield a weapon against a Qunari soldier, when he’d been raised in a merchant class his whole life.

“No, I appreciate your insights.  You’ve seen a part of the world that most of us here will only ever dream of, and then, only if we want to.  Most don’t care about what happens down there.”

“The Venatori did.”

“Yes, there are always exceptions.” Tanicus plucked a fig from the dish on the sideboard.  “I shudder to think what would have happened to the world had they succeeded, though I do have an academic curiosity about it.”

Dorian took a long sip of his drink.  “I could tell you.  I saw it.”

Tanicus’s dark eyes went wide and he leaned forward.  “How?”

Dorian hadn’t remembered that future in a long time, mostly because no one could appreciate or understand the magical theory behind what Alexius had done, and how he himself had reversed it.  Even Theo, for all his willingness and dogged determination to be interested eventually went a little glassy-eyed when Dorian got  _ too _ theoretical.  Tanicus, however, simply finished off his drink, poured another, then topped off Dorian’s glass and nodded at him to explain everything.

And he did.

He regretted it slightly the next morning when he woke with his head pounding; he didn’t normally drink whiskey to begin with, let alone in such quantities.  He also regretted, for one of the first times since returning north, that there was no tavern like The Herald’s Rest in Skyhold.  Cabot, the barkeep, and his staff specialized in hearty, disgustingly greasy breakfasts that were miraculous hangover cures, and worked even better than any healing spell.

Tevinter breakfasts weren’t nearly as hearty, and hangover cures ranged from shooting down a healing potion, to languishing in bed until afternoon, to just drinking more.  Dorian rummaged in his nightstand and found a small bottle, which he uncorked and tipped down his throat.  He waited a moment, and eventually the pounding in his head subsided, though the dizziness persisted.  He rang the servants’ bell and Gavia appeared in his doorway.

“Peppermint tea?” she guessed, having a hard time keeping the smile off her face.  “Remember, I used to serve at the home in Qarinus.  I’ve nursed you back from the brink of alcohol poisoning many a time, Master Dorian.”

He stifled a groan and mustered the energy to be decent.  “Thank you, Gavia.  That would be good.”  

She returned a few minutes later with a large mug of tea, and the heady mint scent helped ease the tension in his head and neck.  He cooled it just enough to be able to drink it without burning himself.  Once the roiling in his stomach had stopped, and the dizziness was faint enough that he wasn’t going to fall over, he got up and readied himself for the day.  Mae had scheduled a meeting with the other Lucerni at her home.

The morning ritual of grooming and dressing helped Dorian feel more human again.  He adjusted his various rings and tucked the sending crystal pendant under his shirt, then picked up Theo’s matching necklace and stuck it in a pocket.  Once he headed out to the main section of his apartment, he was pleased to see that Gavia had put together a light breakfast for him.  He nibbled at his toast and sipped another cup of mint tea before heading out into the sunny Minrathous morning.

He squinted as he walked, headed toward Mae’s home, and stopped when he spotted Maevaris walking toward him.  “I know I drank too much last night, but I  _ am _ going the right way, aren’t I?” he asked.

“You’ll have to tell me about it later,” Mae said grimly.  “Lucrezia’s family has something going on that Lu thinks may help us.  At this point, I’ll take everything I can.”

Dorian fell into step with Mae and they headed into the market district, and turned down the quaint lane where the Aureos Distillery was located.  Mae knocked on the glass door, and Lucrezia hurried over.  She held her hand against the inside of the doorframe and the door swung inward.  Lucrezia ushered them both inside before closing the door again.  “Mother, Father, may I introduce my colleagues, Magisters Tilani and Pavus?” Her voice sounded tight and her cheeks were flushed.

Lucrezia took after her father, Dorian noted, though she did have her mother’s hazel eyes.  While both parents bowed and attempted to remain dignified it they were clearly upset.  Maevaris, always the calm matriarch of the group, led everyone to a large central table.  “Should we be expecting the Watch?” she asked, glancing out the window.

Brutus Aureos shook his head.  “No.  I didn’t dare call them for this.”

Mae cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed.  “Then what  _ did _ happen?”

Lucrezia stared at the hammered copper tabletop.  “We’re one of the most well-off soporati families in Minrathous,  _ and _ things only improved for us when I was sworn into the Magisterium.  We had a rash of burglaries last year.  No locks seemed strong enough.  So… I devised a way to keep people out when we were closed, and only my family could get in.”  Dorian and Mae both stared at her.  “My  _ family. _  My…  _ bloodline. _ ”

Dorian had sworn never to resort to blood magic, especially after how his father had tried to use it to change and control him.  While many mages in Tevinter practiced blood magic, and while from a theoretical and academic standpoint it could be useful, Dorian still couldn’t stop the prickle that went up his spine and the way his mana bristled at the implication.

Maevaris nodded once, slowly.  “Does anyone else know you did this?”

“Just my parents and my brother.  And now you two.”

“We’ll need to keep it that way.  I see now why you didn’t want the Watch involved.  Why ask me to come?”

“Sabina and I were doing our inventory and realized a bottle of our strongest spirit was missing.  We’ve been meticulous about our inventory since Lu’s… security system,” Brutus said.

“It wasn’t another worker, you think?” Dorian asked.

“No.  We have ways of knowing.”  Dorian didn’t want to know.

“If there are only four of us who are able to enter after hours, and who know where we keep the most valuable bottles, that means one thing,” Lucrezia said, and her father wrapped his arm around her and Sabina’s shoulders.  “Hector isn’t in Seheron like we believed.”  Mae opened her mouth to argue, but Lucrezia shook her head.  “Think about it, we haven’t heard anything from him.  All three of us were home when the bottle went missing.  He knew about the… security system and would have been able to breach it.”

“If he didn’t go to that horrid place, why didn’t he come home?” Sabina Aureos asked.  Her cheeks reddened the way Lucrezia’s did when she was upset.  

“He’d be labeled a deserter,” Mae said, voice grim.  “Lu, you need to talk with Carduelis  _ today. _  Tell him you have reason to believe your brother is in the city.  Ask him if he’s heard of any other soporati families who haven’t heard anything from their sons and brothers, or haven’t gotten anything of the commission they may have been promised.”

“What do we do?” Brutus Aureos asked.

“Business as usual,” Mae decided. “And if Hector comes to you, hide him.  Send word to me and the Lucerni will protect him.  Your son is no deserter,” she told Brutus and Sabina, offering a kind smile.  “We’ll find out why he didn’t make it to Seheron.”

Dorian followed her out.  The nausea churning in his stomach wasn’t from being hungover: he knew exactly why Hector Aureos hadn’t made it to Seheron.  “Any luck with Tanicus last night?” Mae asked when they’d made it away from the distillery.

“I told him what I knew of the Qunari invasion, and that the Antaam had nothing to do with it.”

“And you’re going to see his father’s lecture tonight, with Mar-- Ellandra, yes?”  He nodded.  “Good.  I wouldn’t let him in on anything we’re up to.  But if you can figure out if he knows where the money’s going, or, Maker forbid, where the people are going, that would help.”

“I take it our usual meeting for this morning has been canceled?” Dorian asked her, and Mae nodded.  “I think I’m going to head to the bazaar.  There’s someone there I enjoy talking with,” he told her.  Mae smiled, but it was obvious she was biting her tongue.  “It’s alright.  I’m unlikely to get mugged in broad daylight in the marketplace,” he said more loudly.

She gave him a long stare.  “This  _ is _ Minrathous, Dorian.  Be careful.”

He wandered the bazaar, tuning out the noise around him, and even dipping slightly into the Fade.  The spirits who worked with him were there, some reaching out to the people around him: people grieving inside, who were scared or worried.  Dorian smiled in spite of the melancholy.  He’d spent so much time trying to look for Theo, but the spirits could lead Dorian right to him.   _ He carries a heavy burden of sadness, _ Dorian told an indigo spirit that floated before him on the pathway.   _ He grieves for his own losses, and for the losses of others. _  It was strange to describe Theo this way, and the more Dorian did it, the worse he felt for snapping at him the night before.

The spirit paused at the end of a series of stalls.  Sure enough a sunburnt beggar leaned against a post.  He had a tin cup out in front of him with a few coins in it.  Dorian busied himself looking at the goods of the stall, though the silk was definitely cheap and had several snags in the fabric.  The stall keeper was just so thrilled to have a Magister browsing, that he didn’t dare ask anything that might offend and drive him away.  Dorian glanced down and the beggar looked up with familiar green eyes.  “For your trouble,” Dorian said with a nod to his missing arm, and tossed a small leather pouch to the man before walking away.  It hurt not to look back.

But at least Theo had the crystal back, and at least they’d seen one another.  And if Dorian had his way, they’d see each other for longer tomorrow evening.  But now, he had to get home and prepare for a night out on the town.

* * *

  
  


The last time Dorian really thought to get out was when his mother visited some months back.  He’d been out for dinner with Mae regularly, and had spent some evenings over at Mae’s working with Varric and Maranda, and then there was that night with Theo… but he hadn’t really gotten out much otherwise.  Most Magisters frequented the playhouses and concert halls every weekend, if not even many weeknights.  Then again most Magisters weren’t investigating corruption that grew more tangled and insidious with each discovery.

Dorian changed into a set of robes so deep green they were almost black; when he moved the light caught the green sheen and reminded him of raven feathers.  He wore his gold and emerald family amulet and adjusted the black leather belts and brushed gold buckles that held his robes in place.  He checked his mustache one last time before heading down to the foyer of his apartment building where a carriage waited for him, drawn by two dracolisks rather than horses.  Maranda had challenged him, saying she wanted a full Tevinter experience this evening.  Dorian didn’t intend to disappoint.

Maranda waited out front talking with Maevaris when the coach pulled up.  She wore deep plum robes over a pair of black fitted trousers and boots, and had pinned up her intricate braids.  She’d even used a kohl pencil on her eyes, and Dorian absently wondered if he could get Theo to do something similar-- if he framed it as being helpful to diffuse the sunlight, of course.

“Dracolisks?  Really?” she asked, eyes wide with fascination.  Dorian just smiled and took her hand to assist her up into the carriage.

“We’ll be back before midnight,” Dorian called to Mae. The carriage lurched and they were off.  “There’s a nice little bistro across the plaza from the Circle,” he told her.  “I thought dinner and drinks, then the lecture?”

Maranda raised an eyebrow.  “You do know how to treat a lady.”

He gave her a half-smile.  “I was raised in elite Tevinter society, my dear.  Of course I do.”

“You miss my brother, don’t you.”

“Of course I do,” he admitted.  “I never thought I’d be fortunate to find love, let alone with someone like him.”  He glanced out the carriage window and wondered what alleyway Theo stalked through this evening.  “But I don’t think he’d find anything about this remotely interesting.  He would try, of course.  But mostly because I would have insinuated that he wouldn’t be interested in the first place.”

“He’s stubborn,” Maranda said, and Dorian snorted.  

“Ideally when this is all figured out he and I will be able to finally settle down,” Dorian said wistfully.  “But enough about me, tell me about  _ your  _ magical background.”

“Circle-raised and trained from the age of nine.  I was there before Theo was born.”  She conjured a ball of bright white lightning in her hand.  It crackled loudly in the enclosed space.  “I love storm magic,” she said, with a fond smile as she turned the orb of electricity in her hand. “I”m also very good with herbs and potions.  There’s not quite as much of that here, I’ve noticed.”

“No, not in the center of the city; there’s not quite the space for herbs and gardening, unfortunately.  Obnoxious flower gardens planted to rival any Orlesian garden?  Certainly.  But far be it for any Tevinter to think practically.”

Maranda’s brow furrowed. “Do you even like it here?” she asked.  “All you do is disparage it, or so it seems.”

“I don’t like it, that’s the thing.”  He conjured a lightning globe of his own.  “I love it.”

“I don’t know what it is to love a place so much.  I was in the Circle most of my life, and it became a part of me, but I never loved it.”

“Have you ever loved any _ one _ ?” Dorian asked, waving his hand and the lightning blinked out, leaving them both in darkness.

“Yes.  But it was the wrong place at the wrong time.  He would have really enjoyed it here, come to think of it,” she said in a soft, wistful voice.

The carriage came to a stop.  “My apologies,” he said gently, but she shook her head and forced a polite smile. “Come. We’ll gorge ourselves on tiny food and then partake of a boring, yet oddly riveting academic lecture.”  He opened the door and stepped out into the night.

The orange globes lit the plaza, and the dwarven-engineered fountain bubbled and splashed.  The cafes and bistros that lined the plaza had outdoor dining and parchment lanterns lit with tiny magelights.  Dorian steered Maranda toward the cafe he’d eaten at with his father the last time he’d been in Minrathous; the food was excellent there, but he’d also hoped that eating at a place with some unpleasant memories attached would keep him from having  _ too _ good a time entertaining Theo’s older sister.

Maranda’s understanding of theoretical magic was quite fascinating, given that she’d been raised in a southern Circle.  “You’d have had a field day in the ancient library we found ourselves traipsing about in,” Dorian lamented.  “Of course, all of the books tried to bite me, but still.  All that knowledge.  And then the diagrams the Qunari had done…”

“Theo didn’t let you keep any?”

He shook his head.  “The Iron Bull didn’t.  By the time we were in Par Vollen, Theodane was completely delirious.”  Another unpleasant memory.  “But what neither your brother nor the Iron Bull counted on was my memory, and the fact that I copied over the notes from memory.”

“Impressive.”

“I haven’t had a chance to do much of anything with it yet, but it was something to do,” he said with a shrug as their meals arrived.

After dinner they made the short walk across the plaza to the Minrathous Circle.  He hadn’t expected Tanicus to be waiting for them, but he wasn’t surprised, either.  “Dorian.  Lady Ellandra.  Thank you for coming,” he said warmly, gesturing for them to follow him.  “My father has planned something special for this evening’s lecture.”  His dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and Dorian, for one moment, wondered if “something special” meant sacrifices and blood magic.

That’s what it always meant to the Venatori gathering at Alexius’s home.

Once everyone had taken seats the lights dimmed.  Next to him, Maranda drew in a sharp breath.  Dorian sat stiffly in his chair, ready to bolt if needed.  Suddenly several globes of white light floated up toward the ceiling.  “The sailors of the lost, ancient kingdom of Neromenian used the sky,” Tacitus Thrassea began.  He was cloaked in darkness, but his voice resounded clearly.  “They used the moons to determine the passage of months, and they used the stars to determine their place at sea.  In the stars, they saw stories to pass the long weeks at sea.  In the stars, they saw the Old Gods.”

The lights danced and arranged themselves overhead.  Dorian stared up and recognized the constellation  _ Eluvia _ , or Razikale.  The Old God of mystery and secrets.

“Each Blight has corrupted the Old Gods; Dumat, god of silence, reigned with screams and shouts and chaotic cacophony.  Urthemiel, the god of beauty, left ugliness and destruction.  Raziakle’s rising remains a mystery, though, since Urthemiel’s defeat, it is now imminent.  By understanding the tenets of ancient Razikale worship, through the writings of Livia, mother of Archon Darinius, we can come to understand more of the mysteries.”

Many lecturers Dorian had had during his time in the Circles had been dull, likely because not one truly loved his or her scholarship the way Tacitus Thrassea did.  From the smile on Maranda’s face, it was clear that the Southern Circles didn’t have nearly as much to offer in the way of academics.

The first Archon’s mother had been a high priestess of Razikale, and Tacitus had been doing extensive research on her life.  “There have also been relief carvings found in the Western Approach in Orlais,” he said, and the lights came up.  Dorian squinted, and sure enough, Tacitus had a stone slab carved with scenes of human shapes, and a high dragon with lightning arcing down.  “Sometimes we think of what might come of uncovering the details behind the worship of Razikale,” Tacitus said.  “But perhaps it is unwise to do so, for the Old God of mystery guards her secrets well.  It is sobering to consider what will come of things if the darkspawn corrupt her.”

And on that happy note, Tacitus bowed, turned, and exited the room.  “That was… pleasant?” Maranda said, but on her right, Tanicus chuckled.

“My father is dramatic.  Don’t mind his tone.  Though you must admit, it was an effective ending.  I didn’t realize he was going to go that route.  He usually practices his lectures on me,” he explained.

“It is all very interesting,” Dorian admitted.  “I rarely gave thought to this Circle’s history… or the history of any of the others I was at, before.  Though, it was four hundred years between the fourth and fifth Blights, and Urthemiel didn’t exactly put up much of a fight in the grand scheme of things.  Perhaps Razikale and Lusacan will just decide to remain in slumber?”

“Or rise again in their full, uncorrupted glory,” Tacitus suggested, approaching.  “Dorian Pavus. Each time you attend you have a different lovely lady on your arm,” he said in greeting.  “Thank you for attending again.  I am planning another lecture in the future; perhaps I’ll even turn the series into a scholarly tome.”

“It would be worthwhile, for those who had to miss parts of your series,” Maranda said.

“You flatter an old academic.” Tacitus bowed before taking his leave.

In the carriage on the way back to Mae’s, Maranda was pensive.  “Something about the constellation keeps bugging me,” she said at last.  She yawned. “Though I think I’ll have to wait until morning to go look it up.  Thank you for the night out, Dorian.  It was nice to spend more time with you.”

“I agree.  We are family after all, and mages at that.  We are the minority in the Trevelyan family.”  Maranda laughed and got out at Mae’s place and waved farewell to Dorian before entering. 

Dorian instructed the driver to bring him home.  The night out had been a good time, and he’d enjoyed himself more than he thought he would.  But now that it was over he found he was mostly looking forward to getting some rest.  He had plans for tomorrow night, after all.


	32. A Night In

#  Chapter 32: A Night In

“You don’t approve.”

Cardenio glanced up from sharpening his knives.  “I  cannot tell you what to do or what not to do.  All I can tell you is there is a reason I remain unattached when I am in the field.  And in general,” he added after a moment of thought.

“If anything, this job we’re doing is impacting my relationship far more than my relationship is impacting the job,” Theo retorted.  “Look, I’ll give him what intel I can, and he’ll tell me what he can.  It’s not a total waste of time.  Can you please stop looking at me like that?  Andraste’s tits, it must be an Antivan thing.  Josephine used to give me that same glare.”  He ran his hand over his hair.  

“We’re building followers to take on Celares,” Cardenio finally said.  “Like it or not, we need a network down here that we can depend on.  Your fancy uptown contacts are well and good, but how long before someone picks up on what’s happening?”

Theo sighed.  “Fine, after tonight… you can take the uptown work for a bit.”  He hated conceding that, but if it stopped Cardenio from glaring daggers at him, making him feel guilty about his priorities, it would be worth it.  At least he still had the sending crystal.  It was far better than nothing.

At last Cardenio waved him away, and he was nearly out of the catacombs when Alecto passed him.  “Where are you off to?” the young man asked.

“I have a meeting with a contact,” Theo told him; not  _ entirely  _ a lie.  Alecto didn’t need to know that Theo’s contact was also his husband, and that he was aching to be in bed with him.  Dorian’s short note promised a quiet night in, just the two of them, and Theo couldn’t wait.  

“You’ll be back though, right?  It’s not dangerous?”

Theo smiled offhandedly.  “This is Minrathous.  Everything’s dangerous.”

Alecto laughed.  “True.  Fuck, I’ve lived here my whole life and I almost ended up sent off to the Storm Coast to mine the blue shit.”

“Hopefully this meeting will tell me a few more things about all of that,” Theo promised, glancing toward the stone archway that would lead up to street level, hoping Alecto would get the hint that Theo had to be going.  

“Be careful then,” Alecto advised, and Theo just smiled in thanks before heading up into the streets.  

It was already dark, and so long as he wound through alleys and kept to the shadows no one took notice of him.  He kept his head down and his pace just slow enough that he wouldn’t catch any attention, though he longed to run.  There was a time not long ago when he’d ruled nearly the whole of Thedas; now he just tried to avoid the attention of the city Watch and any other criminals who might find a one-armed foreigner easy pickings.

Theo knew they were doing important work, going where Dorian couldn’t.  And Dorian had gone so many places and done so many unsavory things throughout the years they were with the Inquisition.  Still, he had a hard time figuring out where his priorities and loyalties should be.  He and Cardenio were making headway training the men they’d saved; Alecto had been a blacksmith’s apprentice and knew some basic sword work.  Theo knew they needed them.  But he also couldn’t keep from  _ needing _ to be near Dorian.

Dorian had always been a flame burning at the edges of Theo’s consciousness even when they were apart; like a moth, Theo couldn’t stay away.  He didn’t  _ want _ to stay away.

So he found himself on Dorian’s balcony, sweating and aching from the climb and thankful Dorian didn’t live any higher up.  The warm breeze ruffled his hair.  He pulled his crystal out from under his shirt.  “Dor?”  he whispered.

The moments passed. Theo’s mind went to the worst: Celares had discovered them; Celares had Dorian and was using him to lure Theo.  Celares had pried open Dorian’s mouth and cut his tongue out…

The lock on the balcony door rattled and Theo’s legs wobbled and nearly gave out with his relief.  “Thank the Maker.  Dorian,” Theo said with a sigh as Dorian opened the door.  He fell into Dorian’s arms, clasping his husband to him and just basking in the relief that Dorian was alright.  “This is getting to me,” Theo explained when he finally pulled back.  “The truth is, I worry for you, too.”

Dorian closed the doors and led Theo inside by the hand.  “It’s not a good feeling, is it,” he stated, but he was smiling, the ends of his mustache quirking upward.  “How are you healing?”

“Still hurts like a bitch, but I can block it out.”  Theo paused and looked at the floor.  “Thank you for inviting me.  I’m sorry I was an ass last time.”

“You’re very good at being an ass,” Dorian said with a smile.  “And it is amusing to knock you down a peg with my wisdom and maturity every so often.”

Theo didn’t bother to stifle his laugh.  “Well, if I can help lighten the mood around here, I suppose that’s a good thing.  What have you found out lately?”

Dorian shook his head.  “No.  None of that tonight.  We need another night just to ourselves, just to enjoy one another.  We’ll worry about the other things in the morning.  I’ve missed you.”

“Even though I’m such a pain in the ass?”

“Especially because you’re such a pain in the ass,” Dorian said.  “Please, make yourself comfortable.  Gavia has dinner going.”

Theo couldn’t avoid the stab of worry in his gut.  “Someone else is here?”  He was self-conscious enough of just how filthy and battered he was around Dorian.  He’d also scared Gavia senseless the other night.  But Dorian just ushered him into the washroom where a hot, scented bath was waiting, and Theo was even more surprised when Dorian shed his clothing and stepped in.

“I never told you that I still remember that night we shared the bath at Griffon Wing Keep,” Dorian said once Theo had settled.  “That was the night I think I realized I was truly in love with you, even though it took me so long to say so.”

“You knew even then?”  Theo asked, feeling his cheeks burn.

“You didn’t?” Dorian’s foot caressed Theo’s ankle.

“Oh, I knew it before then.”

“I’d like to try something,” Dorian said suddenly.  He reached over and pulled Theo close to him.  “Close your eyes.”

The feeling of Dorian, so warm and slippery and comforting behind him made Theo tingle and stir, but he obeyed.  Dorian placed his fingers at Theo’s temples and began to rub slow circles with just a hint of pressure.  Tension seeped out of Theo’s skull and shoulders and arm and soon it was just himself and Dorian.  “Open your eyes,  _ Amatus, _ ” Dorian whispered.

Theo did so, and nearly jumped out of the water.  “How did you do that?” he asked, staring around the pale golden-tan stone of Griffon Wing Keep’s bathing chamber.

“We’re in the Fade.”  Dorian wore a proud grin on his handsome face, intensely pleased with himself. 

Theo leaned back against Dorian.  “This isn’t quite how I remembered it there.”

“No, it’s how  _ I _ remember it there.  We’re in my realm of the Fade.  Easier for me to access, being a mage and all.  You enter parts of the Fade when you dream, but you can’t consciously mold or control it.  However, seeing as I can, and seeing as an excursion out of Minrathous is a bit impractical for the both of us right now…”

The Fade.  Theo had walked the strange in-between realm twice before, and neither had been a particularly good experience.  “So I’m dreaming.”

“In a sense, yes.”

“It feels so real.”

“We  _ are _ still in my bathtub in Minrathous,” Dorian said, splashing him playfully.  Theo wriggled away and returned the splash, but a strangled gasp caught in his throat.  “ _ Kaffas,” _ Dorian muttered.  “I’m sorry.  I did say this was how I remembered it.”

Theo stared down at his left arm, completely intact and flexed his fingers.  His chest swelled and he reached up to touch Dorian’s face.  He remembered the softness and warmth of Dorian’s skin.  “The Fade is a dangerous place,” he finally said.  “You can see what you want to see.”  He rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder.  Dorian wrapped his arms around him and Theo focused on that feeling.  They were together, in the place where they’d declared no more walls between them.

When he opened his eyes they were back in Dorian’s marble bathing room and the water was still warm.  Dorian grabbed the soap and began washing Theo’s back.  Theo set aside his pride and let Dorian work.  The little glimpse of the past had reminded him of how badly he’d wanted a relationship without walls or barriers, a relationship where he and Dorian could be honest and open with one another.  He still wanted that.

Once he was clean and had shaved and combed his hair, he recognized himself a little more again.  His nose and cheeks were still pink from the sun, but it felt nice to be clean-shaven, if just for now.  He picked out clothes from Dorian’s vast closet-- a room in and of itself. He remembered back in Skyhold, how Dorian’s wardrobe had started encroaching into Theo’s closet.  Now Dorian’s clothes hung on him a little, and the layers and drapes of fabric looked strange on him.  Still, better than what he had been wearing, even if the left arm did dangle at his side.

He found his way to a small dining room, where Dorian chatted with a gray-haired woman in a simple dress, in the colors of House Pavus.  She looked up when she heard Theo enter, and stood a bit straighter.  “Company two nights this week, Master Dorian?  You’re almost becoming social.”  She sounded teasing enough, but Theo heard the uncertain and suspicious edge in her voice.

“Gavia, this is Theodane.  He’s been investigating some things for me.  And he’s my husband.”  Dorian rose from his seat and took Theo’s hand, leading him to the table.

“Sorry I broke in the other day,” Theo told her, biting his lip and glancing at her, feeling suddenly shy.  Something about being introduced by Dorian in that way, to someone in Dorian’s home, filled Theo with gratitude.  They would be alright.

Gavia gave him a brusque nod.  “Master Dorian has kept us on our toes for years, and Minrathous is a hard city.  The staff has learned to expect the unexpected.”  Then she smiled.  “I am pleased that he’s found someone who can tolerate him, though.”

“Thank you.  Though I’m not sure which of us does more of the tolerating,” Theo said, taking a seat.  She eyed his missing left hand, but said nothing before heading back into the kitchen to bring out dinner.  She took her leave shortly after, leaving them alone.  “Will she say anything?” Theo finally asked, after he’d demolished a plate of food.  He tried not to think of Cardenio and the others scraping by.  He would have to find a way to start supplying them better.

“No, she’s been loyal to the Pavus family for years.”  Dorian sipped his wine.  “I remember what we said that time about no more walls, and I think that perhaps this mystery is the most recent wall we have to scale.  Perhaps there always  _ will _ be walls, come to think of it.”

“It’s just a matter of whether or not we find ways to climb over them or break them down,” Theo guessed, and Dorian nodded.  “It… makes sense.” He looked around the dining room, at the marble pillars and inlaid floors and the fine porcelain plates.  “Given who we are, and how different we are, at this point it’s almost unrealistic to expect things to go easily.”

“About that.”  Dorian set his glass down and panic swelled in Theo’s chest, but Dorian reached out and caught him by the wrist.  “You could have turned me away from the Inquisition because I was from Tevinter.  But you fought for me, and refused to let me be sent away.  More than that, you… we fell in love.  I know this is a land of magic, and that makes it complicated, but I will fight for you to stay by my side, the same as you fought for me to remain at yours.”  

“Are we still in the Fade?” Theo asked, embarrassed by how his voice shook.  He glanced down, and the left sleeve of Dorian’s shirt hung limply past his elbow.

After that Theo felt much more at ease, and put a concerted effort into not feeling jealous when Dorian told him about his evening out with Maranda, or the visit with Tanicus the night before that.  They left the dining room and Dorian brought him to the study, with its floor-to-ceiling wall of bookshelves, and the heavy green velvet drapes open to reveal Minrathous sparkling below.  Dorian started a fire, Theo pulled out a book and rested on the rug before the hearth, and it felt… comfortable and normal.

“Want to see what I’ve been working on when I’m not helping uncover lyrium-mining madmen?” Dorian asked.  He sounded shy, which intrigued Theo; they were in Dorian’s home, in Tevinter.  Dorian should have sounded confident.  Theo nodded, and Dorian pulled a leather-bound journal out of the writing desk.  He sat on the floor next to Theo and handed it over.

Theo flipped through the journal.  He scanned over the diagrams Dorian had drawn and stared at numbers and equations that meant nothing to him.  He turned a page and his eyes widened.  “An eluvian?  You’re building an eluvian.”

“No,” Dorian said, shaking his head.  “At least, not yet.  Maybe not ever.  But there were so many things I saw when we were at the Darvaarad, and I couldn’t let it go to waste.  I remembered it and started writing it down.  The calculations are complex, and while the Qunari were onto something with them, they would still need a better understanding of the magic itself.  Maybe someday I’ll make this all work, but for now, it’s a nice diversion from politics.”

“It will be nice when we don’t have to worry about diversions anymore.”

Dorian plucked the journal from Theo’s hands and put it away.  “Are you certain you don’t want any diversions ever again?” His grey eyes sparkled.

Theo grinned. “I suppose some diversions aren’t terrible.  I could go for a diversion right about now.”

Dorian strode toward him, catlike and graceful and predatory, and Theo’s breath quickened.  “Right here?”  Theo nodded, not trusting his voice.  “Right now?”  Theo nodded again, and then Dorian had pinned him to the floor.  The fire roared higher and Theo could hardly breathe from the intensity of his kisses.  Somehow they ended up naked before the hearth, and Theo felt only warmth and light as Dorian took him.  


	33. Written in the Stars

#  Chapter 33: Written in the Stars

It was a long shot, but Maranda thought that the Minrathous Circle library would have to have  _ A Study of Thedosian Astronomy.   _ When she stopped to think about it, she was actually amazed that the Ostwick Circle had had that book, given that so many of the constellations were based in ancient Tevinter legends.  She hadn’t thought of the book in years, but Tacitus Thrassea’s lecture on Razikale had reminded her of the book and the things she’d read in it so many years ago.

“It is a familiar text,” the Enchanter in the main hall told her.  “If we have it, it would be on the top floor.  In the observatory with the astraria,” he added, taking pleasure in the way she was surely gawking.  “Would you care for an escort?”

“No thank you,” Maranda said with a slight bow.  “Exploring is part of the experience of being here.”

The enchanter inhaled deeply, probably smelling the scent of old parchment that lingered in the air.  The Ostwick Circle had a similar scent, and when she’d first come to the Minrathous one, Maranda had so many memories come flooding back; but now she recognized the subtle tang of older magic and the pervasive currents of the Fade that the Ostwick templars never would have allowed, and felt quite comfortable here.

She worked her way up to the top floor slowly, taking time to browse some floors.  Maevaris was in meetings all day with Dorian and their other Magister friends; Varric and Cardenio were meeting with Theo in a seedy tavern somewhere on the waterfront.  She wondered if she could possibly stay here until night fell, and maybe use an astrarium.  She’d read about them, but had never seen one.  Maybe she would just ask Maevaris if she could move in and stay in Tevinter indefinitely.

The top floor was a glassed-in dome that should have been too hot, but felt temperate and maybe even a bit cool.  Maranda felt around in the Fade (which was becoming second nature-- she was starting to enjoy not fearing her magic) and noted several spirits meandering around giving off a chill.

Maranda found a section of reference books, and held her breath as she searched.  Sure enough: _A Study of Thedosian_ _Astronomy_ by Sister Oran Petrarchius was on the shelf.  As the only one up here she easily found a table to spread out her things and began reading.  But because she was the only one up here, it was easy to hear footfalls approaching on the stone staircase not far away.  

“Excuse me, Lady Ellandra Bright?”  It took a moment for Maranda to remember that she was still Varric’s ‘Lady Ellandra’ when out in public.  She looked up and stiffened automatically when she saw Titus Magnus’s bulky frame filling the doorway.  “I… I see you recovered your belongings after they were stolen from you,” he said, observing her things spread out over the table.

“Yes.  Magister Tilani was very gracious in assisting me,” she said.  He blocked the only way out.

“I was told you’d come up here.  I have come to apologize for my behavior the other evening.  It was discourteous of me to behave that way toward a guest of another Magister.”

The words were clearly rehearsed, and he didn’t seem to mean any of it, from the way he didn’t bother to look at her.  But all that mattered to Maranda was getting him out of here.  “Thank you, Magister Magnus.  I do need to be getting back to my work…” She glanced at her notebook and travel inkwell.  

“May I ask what you’re researching?”

She sighed, more loudly than was probably wise.  “I attended the lecture on Razikale that the Circle sponsored the other night.  It reminded me of a book I’d read many years ago, and thankfully the library had it.”

“I see.”

He remained in the doorway, and Maranda said nothing else.  Eventually she just went back to her reading.  She’d read books and done research with bulky bullies watching over her shoulder for most of her life.  At last she heard him descend, and a quick dip into the Fade was enough to tell her she was alone once more.  She also knew that people like Titus Magnus didn’t just apologize because it was the right thing to do.  Someone put him up to it.

She flipped to the index of the text, and found the pages for the constellation Eluvia.  The old folktale, from lands south of Tevinter, told of a young woman who’d been saved by being sent to live in the sky, hence why Eluvia was depicted as a woman with her head in the clouds.  And it was also why Maranda had drawn a blank when Tacitus Thrassea had been discussing Eluvia in relation to Razikale.

Razikale was the Old God of mystery and secrets, and the constellation Eluvia had often been associated with the granting of wishes.  In fact… 

Maranda flipped the page and had to struggle not to shout in triumph.  Eluvia was comprised of a frame of eight stars, but there was a single star in the center of that frame.  Legend called it the Wishing Star.  Astronomy called it Celares.

She scribbled down what she’d read.  Now that she had that connection, everything suddenly felt more dangerous.  Like she’d stumbled on a secret that she should not have.  She no longer wanted to be alone up here, let alone after dark, no matter how lovely the stars would be.

Maranda hurried back to Maevaris’s under a bright, late afternoon sky.  The servants let her in and offered to bring her a meal, as it appeared Magister Tilani would be out this evening and unavailable to entertain.  Maranda thanked them, but once food arrived she couldn’t eat.  She stared at her leather bag as if it contained a dangerous, venomous creature.  She closed the drapes in her room and paced, occasionally shaking her hands: they buzzed with pent-up mana.  She finally sat in the center of the bed, legs crossed and eyes closed, with her palms up.   _ Magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him, _ she repeated over and over in her mind, as she took deep, rhythmic breaths.

The buzzing subsided, and she was able to relax a bit and look at things rationally.  No one knew what she’d been researching, or what Mae and Dorian were up to.  Titus Magnus had seen her in the astronomy section of the library, but she’d also been at Tacitus Thrassea’s lecture, which had focused heavily on the constellation.

Finally she heard the front door open and Mae and Dorian’s voices.  They were raised, arguing, and Varric was attempting to jump in.  Maranda grabbed her bag--too nervous to leave it unattended, with what she now knew--and headed out to greet them.

“I’m telling you, Chanter’s practically building an army of these people he and Fletch are saving,” Varric shouted.  “They can be your witnesses!”

“No one’s going to believe it if they one, can’t speak, and two, don’t know how to read or write,” Maevaris said.  “I can divert some funds to support what they’ve got going on down there, and Maker knows those poor sods need what help they can get.  But we have no other real proof that we can bring to implicate the military committee.”

“I found Celares,” Maranda announced just then.

“We could at least--”  Dorian started, but then stared at her.  “Just like that?  Did he introduce himself to you in the library?”

“Yes,” Maranda said.  “But I’m going to need you to ward the house, Dorian.  I’ve seen the lengths this Celares and his people will go to, and I don’t want this getting out until we’re sure.”

Dorian didn’t question her, merely got to work weaving a network of spells, and even pulling some dark violet threads directly from the Fade.  Maranda loved watching her brother-in-law work; it was the effortlessness born of years of practice and training.  “There.  Silenced, warded, and guarded by the most lugubrious spirit I could acquire on short notice,” he said with a proud grin on his face.  “I wouldn’t go too close to the front door though, not unless you want to be inexplicably and profoundly morose for weeks on end.”

Once in the sitting room Maranda pulled out her sketches of the Eluvia constellation.  “Celares is right there in the center.  We always called it the Wishing Star.  Maybe this Celares… has wishes he wants to come true?” she asked lamely.

“Maybe it’s a word in Arcanum?” Dorian asked.  “I have an excellent resource at home.  It used to be Halward’s, so I’m sure it’s never been opened.”

“If Celares is a central point in the constellation,” Varric began, tapping his chin.  “And you only remembered because you went to that lecture…”

They were all silent for a moment.  Dorian’s bronzed skin took on a sickly, sallow hue.  “ _ Vishante kaffas, _ ” he swore in a shaky voice.  “He was over at my home last week!”

“To be fair,” Mae broke in, “Tanicus didn’t give the lectures, his father did.  So if Tacitus Thrassea is Celares, we have to ask ourselves now what he would want with that pure lyrium, when as a high-ranking enchanter, he can get just about all the lyrium he wants.”  

“Tanicus is on the military finance committee,” Dorian mused.  “Maybe Tacitus is pulling his strings?”

“Having met him, he doesn’t strike me as the type who lets anyone pull his strings, family or otherwise,” Maranda said.  “Just an observation.”

“Tevinter families are fond of using blood magic when they need their children to do things said children don’t wish to do.  That’s a possibility.”  Dorian’s hand clenched into a fist; his knuckles went white, and Maranda felt the buzz of mana in the air.

Maevaris stood and paced.  “This does change our strategy a bit now,” she said at last.  “Thank you for being our researcher, Maranda.  This is a big help.”

Maranda shrugged her shoulder.  “I’m just glad Tanicus himself invited me to that lecture.  I wouldn’t have thought of that astronomy book otherwise.”

“Thank the Maker for small favors?” Varric asked.  

They spent the next few hours devising strategy; the new protocol dictated that no one went anywhere alone, and especially not with Tanicus Thrassea.  Whenever practical, they would take a carriage with one of Mae or Dorian’s approved drivers.  The only exception to this was Varric, whose dwarven contacts could provide him with better protection, and whose reputation and position in Kirkwall added an additional safety net.

“You’re our new link to Cardenio and Theodane,” Maevaris told him.  “Dorian has the crystal, but we can’t always count on that; it’s not safe, especially with what we know now.”

Varric nodded.  “And here I was starting to feel a little useless with all you mages running the show,” he said with a grin.  

Dorian took the carriage home alone just for this night, because it was so late that it would look suspicious for Maevaris or anyone else to ride across the city with him, only to return to the Tilani property.  “I’ve done it countless times, Mae.  I’ve even walked home alone since we started this,” he reminded her gently.  “I know, now that we have a solid connection it feels more dangerous, but if we keep going about our business as naturally as possible, the less attention we’ll draw.”

“Speaking of drawing attention, Sparkler...” Varric cleared his throat.  

“He’s right,” Mae said, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on Dorian’s arm.

Dorian pulled away.  “Fine,” he said with a shrug, but Maranda saw the hurt in his eyes.  

She had to hope that, now that they had a clear direction, they could end it soon.  She’d had enough of broken relationships.  If she’d been in the observatory still, she’d have looked for Eluvia amongst the stars and made a wish.


	34. Prime Suspect

# Chapter 34: Prime Suspect

Intellectually, Theo understood what Varric was telling him.

“Look at it this way,” Varric explained.  “We have a direction that we didn’t have before, which means things can’t go on indefinitely anymore.  Which means there’s an end in sight, which means you and Sparkler can get back together again soon, without all of this getting in the way.”

Emotionally, Theo railed against it.  

Still, he took a deep pull of the tepid beer, if this piss could even be called that, and nodded.  “I’ll do what I can, but keep him safe, Varric,” Theo said at last.  His thumb worried at his wedding ring on his right hand.  It had to be something Dagna had done when forging their wedding bands, because no one on the streets noticed it.  Usually anything remotely valuable was easily spotted.  Or maybe he was just _that_ dirty.  Still, he was glad the ring went unnoticed; he didn’t feel like losing his hand, which it would come to if he was asked to give it up.  “For a long time I was going where he couldn’t; now he’s going where I can’t.”

Varric called for another round of beers.  “Oh, you’re not off the hook that easily.  There’s still plenty going on down here with the slavers and the lyrium.  You both pissed off the Carta that time you managed to swipe the deep lyrium shipment.”

“So why haven’t they come after us yet?” Cardenio stuck his finger in his beer and plucked something out of it.  

“Word is no one knows who you are.  There’s the name out there: Le Gauche-- cute by the way,” Varric said, and Theo’s ears burned and his cheeks reddened.  “It’s a name, but with just a few high stakes crimes to it.  No pattern, no real witnesses… it’s a mystery.”

“And we’ll keep it that way,” Theo said firmly.  “Just enough to keep attention diverted from Dorian and Maranda, and the other Lucerni.”

“Fair enough.”  Varric stood and reached across the table to shake Cardenio’s hand, but he leaned too far and spilled over what was left in his mug.  “Son of a nug-humper!”

“Let me help clean it up,” Theo offered, but Varric insisted that he not bother.  “Come on,  it got on me, too.  I still have dignity, believe it or not.”  He reached over to try and grab a cloth from Varric, and knocked his drink over, too.  Cardenio jumped out of his chair and ran around the table to avoid getting cheap beer all over him.  Finally Varric just threw his hands up.

“I’m leaving,” he announced.  “I’m going uptown where maybe someone will have a copy of my books I can sign.”

A harried barmaid ushered Theo and Cardenio out of the tavern, and once on the sidewalk they parted ways.  Theo shuffled along the dockside, keeping in the shade.  The smell of stale beer all over him was an improvement.  He turned down an alley and found a low crumbling archway.  He climbed in and sat down, back against the dank stone.  He pulled his hood up and kept his head down.  Ever since he’d come back, clean shaven, Cardenio worried that he’d be too recognizable.

Unless there were still Venatori around, that wasn’t likely to happen. Varric posited that perhaps Celares was a former Venatori, trying to bring the order back from its defeat a few years back.

So Theo waited in the culvert, and when he was sure he was the only one in that alley, he got to his feet and skulked deeper in.  He trailed his right hand along the slimy stone wall as his eyes grew used to the darkness and his sun blindness faded.  He stifled a laugh.  During the Exalted Council so many uppity Orlesian nobles had asked him what he would do if the Inquisition ended.

 _Slog through Minrathous’s sewers and live in the catacombs_ never made his list.

He ended up in ‘his’ section of the catacombs, which had started to resemble a dwelling.  Carenio had already returned, and he grinned and dangled a heavy purse when he saw Theo.  “The Viscount was generous today,” he said.  “Hector and Alecto are making a list of what we need.  I’ll head to the markets.”

Theo nodded and looked around.  “Where are the others?” he asked suddenly.

Cardenio waved his hand.  “Out and about.  Scouting, listening.  Romulus has developed a basic signing to communicate.” _Which you’d know if you were around more, or even paid attention when you were,_ he seemed to add, just with the way he stared at Theo.

“It’s good to have more ears on the street.”

With the new strategy they were working at, Theo and Cardenio were able to take a step back.  Varric could be found milling about various seedy taverns here and there, and on rare occasions, late at night, Theo’s crystal would buzz and jolt him awake.  He stole a few whispered conversations with Dorian.  He just ignored the disapproving looks Cardenio shot his way, and avoided the curious questions Alecto tried to ask.  “It’s complicated,” he finally said.  “If it ever gets uncomplicated, I’ll tell you.”

“That’s probably never going to happen is it,” Alecto noted.  “If a relationship is uncomplicated, then something’s wrong.”

Theo had to laugh at that one.

“Is she the one you sneak away to see every so often?”

“He, and yes.”  No point lying.  “Come on, let’s practice.  I’m bored, and I’d rather not get my arse kicked the next time we end up in some fight that I accidentally started.” Theo pulled out his knife.  

He and Alecto fell into an easy rhythm trading blows and swipes, focusing mostly on footwork.  Getting injured during practice wouldn’t do anyone any good.  Theo matched Alecto’s steps, leading him in the fight like a dance.  Even if real fights rarely followed this sort of etiquette, it was good practice.

Hector appeared, and leaned against the wall.  He followed the knife swipes and footwork with his keen eyes.  “Good, Alecto.  Hector, you next?” Theo asked.  He was sweating, but it felt good.  Fighting kept his mind off of other things.

Alecto handed over his blade to Hector; he and Theo circled one another warily.  Hector moved first, and Theo reflectively turned his right side toward Hector--and right into the flat of Hector’s knife.  He spun out of the way of another quick jab.  Everyone always went for his left side first; Hector had to have seen that, and known he needed to change his strategy.

Hector matched him step for step, and even started to smile when he saw Theo wearing down: his footwork slowed, his breathing grew heavier, and sweat poured into his eyes.  Theo warily circled Hector.  He feinted to the left, then lunged straight at him.  Hector dropped to his knees and Theo ran into him; he pitched forward over Hector and landed on his face in the dirt.  He had just enough time to thank the Maker this wasn’t the sewer before rolling over and pulling out another knife, but Hector stood over him, knife pointed at his throat.

 _Yield,_ he mouthed.

Theo dropped his blade.  “I yield.”  Hector grinned and slid his knife back into a holster and offered his hand.  Theo took it and got to his feet.  “Nice work,” he said, and he meant it.  

“Training the recruits?” Cardenio asked, rounding the corner.

“Something like that.  Just got my ass handed to me by Hector.”

Cardenio nodded slowly, tapping his chin.  Moments passed and Hector glanced at Theo, who just shrugged.  Cardenio’s thought patterns were often a mystery to him.  “I suppose this is good timing,” Cardenio said at last.  “Alecto, I will need you as well.”  The younger man straightened up.  

“Something happen?” Theo asked, following Cardenio out into the main chamber.  The lyrium crates still glowed, bright as the day they’d stolen them weeks ago.

Cardenio’s slow, feline grin was the only answer Theo needed.

He didn’t know if the fluttering in his gut was excitement or anxiety.

 

* * *

 

The building where the military enlistments took place was outside of the center of the city, but not so far down that the streetlights were merely lanterns and security was virtually nonexistent.  The Watch patrols here still cared about their job, and the lights were bright enough that it took effort to keep to the shadows.

Hector followed Theo as they flanked the building’s south side.  Cardenio and Alecto observed the Watch patrols on the west side.  They waited in silence.  Theo’s pulse raced.  Breaking up slave rings and stopping Celares’s agents in seedy mid-and-downtown tenements was one thing.  They were about to break into the enlistment center.  This was an actual branch of the government.

 _I was the Inquisitor.  I toppled governments for fun,_ Theo thought, but it brought little comfort.

He flattened his back up against the wall, hand tightening on his dagger hilt, when he heard footsteps; it was just Cardenio and Alecto.  Cardenio gestured for them to follow him, and Theo did.  His soft steps barely registered on the pavement.  This was no different than hunting, he reasoned.  Only now, instead of hunting game, he hunted information.

Cardenio paused at a back door and got to work on the locks.  Theo glanced at Hector and Alecto, both of whom tried to remain expressionless.  They’d both come to this place with the honest intention of enlisting, and had both ended up pawns in Celares’s schemes.

The door chain rattled and the hinges squeaked.  Theo held his breath; Cardenio paused.  They both listened.  Nothing.  Cardenio opened the door wide enough for them to file in, then closed it behind them.  He dug in his coat and pulled out a vial.  He shook it, and a faint glow emanated.  “Your sister and your husband create the best toys,” he whispered to Theo.  It was a nice reminder that, while they couldn’t see each other, Dorian and Maranda were still thinking of Theo and his work in this part of the city.

The four stealthily made their way through the storage room, and came out in a small barracks.  “This was where I went to sleep before they took me,” Alecto whispered.  His jaw clenched.  Hector rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.  “Why are we here again?”

“Because one of the Lucerni finally spoke with the head of the Publicanium.  He named a Magister, and noted that she came to this place about once a week, ostensibly to check in on how the military finance funds were being allocated.”

“Fucking Magisters,” Alecto seethed.  “You can bet none of _their_ precious family is signing up for this shit.”  Next to him, Hector cleared his throat.

“Shh,” Cardenio hissed.  He knelt before the cracked door.  “Alecto.  Hector.  Take a look.  Is that her?”  They both peered into the dimly lit next room, and both nodded.  “Good.  She has two bodyguards.  There are two military officials. She is a Magister, which means we must assume strong magic.  Remember the plan.” He stared straight at Theo, an eyebrow raised, challenging Theo to defy him.

The long, deep gash sometimes still throbbed with dull pain, but had healed and he’d avoided infection.  It served as a reminder that he’d acted without thinking and nearly gotten himself killed.  And here, now, he didn’t have the Inquisition resources behind him to make up for it.

They spread out in the room.  Cardenio found an armor stand and kicked it over.  It bounced against the wall and crashed to the floor.  Theo pressed his back up against the wall between this room and the other.  The door opened and one of the recruitment officers stepped in.  Alecto darted out of a shadow toward the back of the room.  The man turned back.  “Just going to check something out,” he called and stepped in.  Once he was a few paces into the dark Theo shoved into him.  Cardenio darted out and grabbed him from behind.  He was efficient and neat, and the man dropped to the ground, dead. _They’d kill us, too,_ Theo thought.   _These people knew what was happening and didn’t stop it._

Hector and Alecto hauled the body to the back of the room and Theo and Cardenio waited.  “Nuncius!” someone called.  “What’s taking so long?”  Theo pulled back against the wall again as the second officer came to the threshold and peered into the dark room.  “One moment, Magister,” he apologized.    
“Be quick Marcellus,” she ordered, and in the near corner, Alecto nodded vehemently.   _That’s her_ , his nod said.

Marcellus made it two steps into the room before Cardenio’s dagger was sprouting out of his throat, and the man crumpled to the ground gasping and gurgling and drowning in his blood.  Theo ignored the sound and tossed out a glass smoke bomb.  Essence of magebane had been added to the mix, so when the glass shattered, the Magister’s magic would be affected.

They had a good choke point with the door into the barracks room, and when the first bodyguard came through Hector was waiting for him.  He drove a knife up and under the man’s ribs, through a chink in the leather armor.  Hector kicked the man out of the way, but the second guard came in and lunged at him with a shortsword.  Hector tried to spin away but the sword caught him in the torso.  Hector stumbled backward, hands over the deep slash, eyes wide with shock.

“Enough!” screamed the Magister.  She cast a blinding light into the room and Theo squinted.  In the intense white light Hector’s blood was so red; too red to be real, like paint.  “What is the meaning of this?”  She strode into the room, and Cardenio grabbed her.  He held one knife to her throat.

“You tell him, Magister Vidia Salvana.” Cardenio pointed his bloody knife at Hector.  “He came here to help his family.  He was rescued from a slave ship bound for the Storm Coast, and someone thought to deprive him of his tongue.”

She sniffed.  “It is unfortunate but has nothing to do with me.”

“I’d say otherwise.” Alecto held two short swords at the second bodyguard, points poised at the man’s throat and groin.  “My cousin and I came to enlist and ended up in some slave den.  You came to check on your investment, you called us.  Now Dario has no tongue, and if I attempt to go back to my life I’ll be labeled a deserter!”

“You signed on to serve the glory of the Imperium.” Vidia Salvana sounded remarkably calm for having Cardenio’s blade at her throat.  “You were never promised _how_ you’d help achieve that.”

Alecto lunged for her.  “You fucking Magister _bitch_ ,” he snarled, and slammed his swords into her gut.  Vidia Salvana’s eyes went wide and Alecto stumbled backward.  Cardenio swore and snapped her neck before dropping her, dead, on the floor.  The remaining bodyguard stared for one moment, before making a break for the exit.

“Go,” Cardenio shouted.  “Get out of here.”  He chased after the bodyguard.

Without the mage’s light, the room was very dark.  “Hurry up and help him,” Theo snapped at Alecto, who stared at the dead Magister with shaking hands.  “Hector.  Help him and get him out of here.  I only have one arm and there’s something I need to do.”

Alecto snapped out of his daze and slung one of Hector’s arms over his shoulder.  Theo pulled back Vidia Salvana’s bloody overcoat and felt around for pockets.  He found a rather large purse with several valuable notes contained in it.  In the front room, he found an envelope bearing the Salvana seal.  Theo ended up grabbing what the two recruiters had left on the table; if they’d had it out while waiting for Vidia, maybe it would prove useful.

Theo holstered his knives and shoved the papers into his coat.  He heard voices from the back and silently cursed Alecto; he’d probably left the back storage door open into the alley.  There would be no going back that way.  His eyes landed on the front door.  It was a risk, but better than getting caught.  

He pulled open the door and exhaled when the street was empty.  To his left, a Watch patrol was coming down the way.  Theo dashed out the door and jumped down the stairs.  The Watch shouted; Theo ran.  He ran until his mouth was dry and his chest constricted around his lungs and acid throbbed in his muscles and a hot knife of pain lodged in his side.

And he kept running.


	35. High Stakes

#  Chapter 35: High Stakes

Dorian was only halfway through with his coffee and egg-and-vegetable strata at the cafe when a shadow fell across his table.  He looked up.  “Titus Magnus.  And here I thought we’d finally managed to stop running into one another.”

Magnus just grinned, a self-satisfied grin that Dorian would have loved to smack off his face with the business end of his staff.  “I happened to be passing by and thought I’d be nice and notify you of the emergency session Archon Radonis just called.”  His gloating grin spread.  “Seems you’re not always in the know, Pavus.  You’ll just want to carefully consider where you were last night.”

“I’d thank you for your pains, but I think you took far too much glee in that delivery,” Dorian told him, and nibbled at his remaining piece of  crisp toast.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’m enjoying my breakfast.”  Dorian ate another forkful of strata and sipped his coffee.  He pulled out a sheaf of letters and started reading, and when it became clear to Magnus that Dorian would not be intimidated, he slumped off toward the Magisterium.  Dorian retained his composure, but inside he found it hard to want to digest the remainder of his meal.  He waited until Magnus was well out of sight before pushing his plate back and putting away his letters and heading not over to the Magisterium, but back to his apartment.  He dashed up the stairs and into his home, slamming the door behind him and warding it.

He pulled out the crystal.  “ _ Amatus _ ,” he hissed.  “Theodane.  Tell me you’re alright.”

The moments passed and with each one Dorian’s heart beat faster.

“Dor.”  He said it like a sigh.  “I’m fine.  Last night went to shit, but I’m alright.  What’s wrong?”  He kept his voice low.

“The Archon called an emergency meeting of the Magisterium.”

“I won’t tell you what we were up to last night then,” Theo said after a moment.  “The less you know… the better.”

A pounding on his door startled Dorian.  “Someone’s here.  I love you.”  He closed the connection before Theo could reply.  “Yes?” He called as pleasantly as he could.

“It’s Mae.”

Dorian still sent out a spirit, asking it to identify her, and it came back with a satisfactory description.  He opened the door and ushered her in.  “I appreciate your caution, Dorian, but sometimes it’s a bit creepy,” she greeted him. “Did you hear?”

“From Titus Magnus of all people.”

“Let me rephrase.   _ What _ did you hear?”

“That the Archon called an emergency session.” 

“Vidia Salvana was murdered at the recruitment headquarters last night, and Lucrezia’s family found her brother.  Dead.”

_ Festis bei umo canevarum, Theodane, _ Dorian thought.  No wonder Theo hadn’t wanted to tell him much.  “I am glad we put our security measures in place,” he told Mae instead.  “No more baseless accusations.”

“Only so long as we can avoid association with Theodane and the Chanter,” she pointed out.  “Do you think you could spend some time picking Tanicus Thrassea’s brain as well?  Maybe find out why a member of his committee was involved with this?”

Dorian had managed to avoid Tanicus for the most part for the last fortnight or so.  They’d said hello in passing, and had a brief discussion on Necromancy after a meeting.  Dorian knew better than to take anything at face value in politics or in Tevinter in general. Still, Tanicus didn’t seem like a madman.  Though, neither had Alexius or anyone else in the Venatori at first. 

“He won’t talk freely with anyone else there,” Dorian pointed out.  “So much for our precautions.”   Maevaris didn’t say anything at first, but her expression clearly told Dorian she was trying to think of how to phrase something.  “Just say it, Mae,” he finally told her.

“The sending crystal,” she said.  “I could borrow Theodane’s crystal.  You keep yours.  You go out, activate the crystal, and that way we hear everything that’s going on,  _ and _ we know if something goes wrong.”

The thought of Theo giving up his crystal made Dorian uneasy, but perhaps it would work.  Dorian would just have to promise to  _ really _ make it up to him after.

They headed to the Magisterium, joining a stream of other Magisters.  Some, Dorian hadn’t seen at a session recently.  Though, he supposed when the Archon called, a Magister had little choice other than to obey.

Even Lucrezia was already there, her cheeks splotchy and red and her hazel eyes glassy and swollen.  But she was there, sitting in her seat and glaring balefully down at the military finance committee in their row close to the floor.  People talked, a low din compared to the usual shouting that took place.

Finally the doors opened and Archon Radonis glided into the chamber.  He held his back straight, shoulders squared, and he did not sink or falter under his ornate and towering headdress.  He made his way to the podium in the center and waited until absolute silence fell.  Dorian pitied the last Magister to close his or her mouth.

“Magisters, thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he began in his resonant baritone voice.  “While we are no strangers to the extents people will go to in order to improve their station…”  He paused and smiled ever so slightly.  “Two of your number have fallen victim to violent ends in compromising locations.  Combined with the dissolution of the Publicanium, it puts the Magisterium in the unique and unsavory position of appearing  _ weak.” _

His smile disappeared and a shadow fell over his features-- a shadow cast not by his ensemble, but by his anger.  “Magic is the foundation of the Tevinter Imperium, and magic  _ will _ always rule here.  However, we must work with the Publicanium and appease the soporati who outnumber us.  The Magisterium will  _ not _ become a joke on my watch.  The proposed draft for military service is hereby struck down and will not be brought up again, unless it is a joint effort between myself and the leader of the Publicanium.”

Augustus Virnius turned a lovely shade of purple-red.  The other committee members remained silent; then again, it was their member who’d been murdered.  Dorian squinted a bit at Tanicus.  His olive skin was sickly and sallow and he looked like he needed some good sleep.  Because he was scared or sad?  Or because he’d been orchestrating slave transport to deep lyrium mines in the bottom half of the world?

“Therefore, I hereby reinstate the Publicanium and welcome Atticus Carduelis to return to his role, in a session of the full senate to convene a week from today.  And Magister Virnius,” he said suddenly, and Virnius’s face went from crimson to pale greeish-white, “I would see you in my chambers.  Now.”  

With that, Archon Radonis swept out of the hall, Virnius trailing behind.  Already the whispering had started.  But Dorian didn’t have time to think of any of that, because he and Maevaris were already hurrying out of the Magisterium.  Lucrezia followed.  Mae hailed a carriage.  “We need to get everyone together,” she said at last, tapping her foot on the sidewalk.

Dorian glanced at Lucrezia.  “Do you think…”

“My brother’s body was found not far from the recruitment building where Magister Salvana was killed,” Lucrezia said in a low, shaky voice.  “His tongue had been cut out.  If you or anyone you know can explain why, I think my family deserves to know.”

“I’m so sorry, Lu,” Dorian said.  A headache throbbed in the back of his skull.  This was not going to go well, but at this point, what could?  They were all in over their heads with this.  And to top it off, he still needed to pick Tanicus’s brain.

* * *

  
  


It took time for Varric to ferret out Theo and Cardenio, and get them back to Mae’s without being noticed in broad daylight.  When Theo did finally emerge at the top of the storeroom stairs, Dorian pulled him into a fierce embrace without care for how filthy Theo was.  Theo wrapped his arm around Dorian’s shoulders and buried his face in his neck. “Thank the Maker you’re alright,” he said before finally letting go.

“What in the Void did you do?” Maranda snapped, coming into the room.  “How am I going to explain to mother and father if you get killed?”

“Everyone. Sitting room, now,” Maevaris announced.  “Dorian, you know what to do.”

Once they’d settled and Dorian had secured the room, introductions were made.  “Lucrezia, this is… my husband, Theodane Trevelyan,” Dorian said with a sigh.  He clasped Theo’s hand.

“You’re him,” Lucrezia said slowly.  “The Inquisitor.  You… you weren’t supposed to be here.  How long have you been here?”  she asked in a breathy voice as she looked between Theo and Dorian and finally rested her gaze on Theo’s scarred elbow stump.  “You… you got my brother killed,” she suddenly snapped.

Lucrezia jumped out of her chair and flung her palm toward Theo. A wall of flame shot out, but Dorian was faster and called up a shield over the two of them.  “Enough!” Mae snapped, waving her hand and casting a nullification charm.  “I happen to like these drapes, and would rather not have to replace the throw pillows due to scorch marks.”  

“That would be the dead Magister who holds that responsibility,” Cardenio said.  “Or, one of her now-dead bodyguards, whom I had a grand time disemboweling.  Your brother was to be a slave bound for the Storm Coast, to mine pure, deep lyrium for someone called Celares.”

“It’s an old Arcanum word for secret or mystery.  Literally, concealing something,” Dorian said.  He rested his hand on Theo’s thigh.  

“I think it’s a good time to start laying out what we know,” Maranda said.  “Theo nabbed some excellent information last night, and if we add it to what we already have, we may have enough to start making Celares very, very nervous.”

“I also brought this.” Theo pulled out dirty paper scraps that he handed to Lucrezia.  “A good faith offering,” he explained softly.  “If you have some other samples of Hector’s handwriting, this will prove that he wasn’t a deserter.”

Lucrezia took the scraps from him and skimmed over them.  The papers fluttered to the floor and she covered her mouth with her hands.  Her hazel eyes welled up.

“This is who we’re trying to stop,” Dorian explained.  “We have the documents and the proof, but we just need to figure out whom we’re going after.  We have theories.”

“Theories won’t bring Hector back,” Maevaris said.  “But we can get justice for him in the Magisterium.”

Lucrezia left shortly after and Maevaris brought up the topic Dorian had been dreading.  “Luckily our stick-together strategy has helped so far, but we have a place Dorian needs to get to alone,” she began.

“I already don’t like this.” Theo narrowed his eyes in Mae’s direction.

Mae explained her plan, and much to Dorian’s surprise Theo took off his crystal and gave it to her.  “ _ Amatus, _ are you certain?”

“If it keeps you alive?  Absolutely.”  Theo looked him in the eye.  Dorian’s breath caught in his throat.  “I came here for you.  I’m still here for you.  We’re playing a high stakes game, and any advantage I can give you, I will.”

Dorian cleared his throat, and everyone else in the room pretended they hadn’t been watching or listening.  “Let it be known that, once we stop this Celares bastard, I intend to take a holiday, and give myself and my husband the honeymoon we have earned,” he announced.  

“Where would you like to go?” he asked Theo later when they were alone, and before Theo and Cardenio headed back to their lair.

“Six months ago I would have said Tevinter,” Theo said quietly. “But now that I’ve been here for a bit, and in the worst part of the city…” He squeezed Dorian’s hand.  “I’m sorry.  I know there’s more to it than Minrathous.”

“Perhaps I’d like to get away as well,” Dorian said.  “Antiva.  That’s neutral territory.  I hear it’s nice this time of the year.”

Theo gave him a parting kiss.  “Antiva it is then.  I’m holding you to that.”

 

* * *

 

All Dorian had to do was let it drop that he was merely  _ interested _ in a potential meeting with Tanicus, and it was scheduled.  Tanicus invited him for dinner at his estate that night, so Dorian dressed in a flattering deep red and black ensemble that offset his pale eyes and made his skin look even richer.  Not that he was trying to woo Tanicus; but the truth was Dorian was nervous, and dressing nicely helped him feel better, more confident. On Mae and Maranda’s suggestion he took the carriage with the dracolisks.  Appearances couldn’t hurt, after all.

“Dorian, thank you for coming,” Tanicus said, once Dorian had been welcomed into the household.  Tanicus was smiling brightly, but his usual tone faltered and he looked worried.  “After this morning’s debacle I fear the military finance committee has fallen a bit out of favor.  I was actually surprised you sent word, given what you and your Lucerni stand for.”

Dorian shrugged and followed him to the dining room.  “I served on the committee for lyrium regulation, and don’t particularly care one way or the other how it’s regulated, if at all,” he confessed.  “Just because you sit on a committee doesn’t mean you particularly espouse what it stands for in your own personal philosophy.”

Tanicus relaxed visibly.  “It’s a relief to hear that.  While I’m all for securing our country, Virnius stepped too far.  Truthfully?  I’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall when the Archon tore into him.”

They took seats at the table.  A slave poured wine while another brought out small fresh salads.  “Thank  _ you _ for agreeing to see me,” Dorian said.  “And…” He stabbed at his salad.  “There’s no delicate way to say this, but because I have appreciated your time and your academic curiosity--”

“You  _ can _ say ‘friendship’, Pavus,” Tanicus teased.

Dorian nodded his appreciation.  “I don’t want to keep beating around the bush, so please forgive me.  You’re not an Old-God-worshipping madman bent on world domination, are you?” He took a quick sip of wine.

Tanicus stared at him, fork poised over his plate.  He laid it down on the table and dabbed his lips with his napkin.  “No, that would be my wife,” he said pleasantly.

“Excuse me?”

Tanicus’s face broke into a grin.  “Oh, you should have seen how pale you went, Dorian!” He took a sip of his own drink.  “What brought this on?”

But rather than answer, all Dorian could ask was, “You’re married?”

“Yes, of course.  It was a grand arrangement, she’s quite lovely.  But she’s highly devoted to her work, so we don’t see much of each other of late.  But you know how it is as much as anyone to be with someone who is so focused,” he added casually.  Dorian didn’t respond, just started in on his salad and was immensely glad that Theo had given up the crystal to Mae.  “Doesn’t he hold you back, Dorian?”

“What?  No, of course not,” Dorian said, a little too sharply.

“I meant no offense,” Tanicus said quickly.  “I just wonder.  You could be truly great, Dorian.  Weren’t you being groomed to be Archon at one point?  How could you give that up?”  He sounded… wistful.

Dorian had any number of reasons why he’d not wanted that life for himself, but he had to remember that he was fielding Tanicus as a possibility for Celares.  “Have you  _ seen _ what he has to wear?” he asked at last.  “It would be a crime  _ not  _ to show off my hair to the public.”

Tanicus laughed.  “True.  Dorian, I know you had experiences with the Venatori, and they tried to bring you into their fold,” he said. “You were right to leave them.”

“Of course I was.  You must have heard the stories of Corypheus and his followers, and what they were willing to do, and what they would have done had not the Inquisitor gone up against them all.”

Tanicus nodded.  “Too true.  Although, I think I meant it more that they were too narrow minded to see what you could truly do, and just how powerful you could be.”

Dorian tilted his head to the side and gave Tanicus a long look.  “Tanicus Thrassea, you flatter me,” he finally said.  “But I do a good enough job of flattering myself on a daily basis.  If you’re trying to woo me over to your side of the Magisterium, you’re going to have to try harder.”

Tanicus raised his glass.  “Challenge accepted.”


	36. Three Can Keep a Secret

#  Chapter 36: Three Can Keep a Secret

“You’re sure?” Theo asked Maranda.

“Dorian’s investigating Tanicus Thrassea, but I really think Titus Magnus is part of all of this, too.  He listens to Tanicus when he speaks, and he apologized to me.  Didn’t mean a word of it, but the way he said it… it reminded me a lot of the way Tacitus speaks.  And Varric sees him down in the dockside taverns,” she added.

“I  _ did _ inadvertently send him after Dorian when Cardenio and I killed that first Magister,” Theo said ruefully.  “And he  _ did _ threaten my sister, and I’d be a shitty brother if I didn’t do something about it,” he added with a crooked grin.

“Word is he’s looking for Vidia Salvana’s killer, and trying to connect them to Dorian, because of course he is,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “What is it with people having it out for Dorian?”

Theo shrugged. “He’s intelligent and powerful, and refuses to play by their rules.  That’s not just my bias toward him speaking, either.  He’s a threat.”  His grin spread.  “Sort of what happened with me when I was Inquisitor, though I’m nowhere near as smart as Dorian is.”

She nudged him in the shoulder.  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Thanks,” he said, blushing a bit.  It was nice to have his older sister looking out for him, and even though they weren’t spending time together, something about this odyssey helped make them closer.  He’d missed being close with a sibling, especially after his father had told him Gavriel died.

Theo ducked out of Maevaris’s garden.  Dusk had fallen and the tall buildings of the city blocked out the setting sun and cast shadows over the streets and sidewalks.  He kept to alleys and side streets, his feet knowing where to go even if his mind wandered.  He’d spent so much time traversing Minrathous over the last couple months that he felt he knew it pretty well.  Maybe even better than Dorian.

He pushed the thought out of his mind.  He couldn’t fault Dorian, not when he’d been raised with wealth and privilege and now actively worked to use both to make Tevinter better.  It wouldn’t happen overnight, or even in a year.

A year.  That was the best-case scenario Dorian had given as a time frame for Theo to join him in Tevinter.  If he’d waited, if he’d come then, he wouldn’t have seen Minrathous this way.  But if he’d waited, who knew what Celares would have been able to accomplish.

Alecto was waiting for him when he got back to the lair.  Romulus was trying to teach him the signs he’d learned to communicate with Dario, Max, and Paul.  “Cardenio is meeting with Varric,” Alecto told him.  

“I see.”  Theo had hoped Cardenio could come out with him to take a look into Titus Magnus.  Still, from what he knew and had seen of the man, it was likely he was just a henchman.  “I have a lead to look into.  You want to come?”

“Are you sure?  After how I fucked up the Salvana job?”  Theo pointed to the angry red scar on his left bicep.  Alecto laughed.  “Fine, point taken.”

“Just follow my lead and take it slow,” Theo advised.  “When you get emotional, that’s when you get into trouble.  Trust me, I’ve been in more trouble in the last three or four years than most people get into in their lifetime.”  He wished he was exaggerating, but Alecto nodded.  Theo pulled out his false arm and started attaching it to his elbow.  Dried blood crusted over some of the metal joints and made the leather attachment point stiff and more uncomfortable than usual.  When this shit was over he was going to have a proper prosthesis made.  Maybe one that didn’t make him look like a piece of dwarven engineering.

Dusk was giving way to darkness as they emerged in the alleyway.  Theo wore a loose, oversized shirt that covered up most of his metal arm, which hung rather useless and stiff at his side.  It was a bit clunky and unbalanced; but easier to explain than if he’d left the metal exposed.  His facial hair was filling in again, and his hair a shaggy tangle.  If Leliana or Josephine could see him now, they’d have strong words about his appearance.

Much as he disliked being so grimy and disheveled, it was only bearable because he knew he was playing a role.  For him, this was temporary.  But once he was finished, what prospects would Romulus or Alecto have, or Dario, Max or Paul?  Would Minrathous ever reform enough that the city could clean up, and the poor would have a chance?  

Theo didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d agreed to come here, but a crisis of conscience was not it.

_ You couldn’t change the entirety of the South, _ he thought. _  The only reason you did as much as you did, was because there was a unifying threat.  Once Corypheus was gone, they had no more use for you. _

He settled in against a wall, sitting on a heap of rotting crates outside of the tavern Maranda had named.  It had a fair amount of foot traffic, and the clientele overall wasn’t quite as questionable as most of the taverns in this part of the city.  Even still, it wasn’t hard to miss Titus Magnus.  He sauntered down the street, too confident in his size and magic (and likely connections this far down) to be bothered with body guards.  Magnus swept into the tavern without even glancing at Theo.

Theo caught Alecto’s eye across the street and nodded.  He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get some semblance of order to it.  He adjusted his shirt and pulled his cloak over his shoulders, and stood up straighter before walking into the tavern.  He held his breath a moment, but no one batted an eye and the din continued.

He ordered a drink at the bar and carried it over to a table not far from where Magnus sat, talking with another man and a dwarf with the Carta brand tattooed on his cheek.  He thought of Renn, dead in the Deep Roads and a pang of guilt at the unfairness of it all stabbed at him.  Renn only wanted to do what was right by his family, and do it honorably.

“...Anything you can give me,” Magnus was saying.  “Magister Salvana was doing good work for the Imperium.”

Theo took a long pull of his drink and thanked the Maker Alecto hadn’t come in yet to overhear that.  

“Watchman Agosti spotted someone running out the front door, but as it was dark, he didn’t get a good look at them,” the other man said.  “But they identified the other body, the tongueless one, as the Aureos’s son.  Whatever you’ve got going, that’s not going to help it.  Their girl’s a Magister, even if they  _ are  _ sops.”

Alecto, keeping his head mostly down, pushed through to Theo’s table.  Theo shook his head slightly, and Alecto kept drinking to avoid asking questions.

“Vitali, if you can’t give me more than that, it’s your tongue they’ll be taking next,” Magnus snapped.  “And you’re a fine one to talk about sops.”

“They’ve got the City Watch on their payroll?” Alecto whispered, and Theo shook his head and put a finger to his lips.  At least Dorian would be heartened to know the corruption in Minrathous wasn’t relegated to the Magisterium.

Across the room a round of cheers and applause broke out as someone played a good hand at cards.

“...found the lyrium yet,” the Carta dwarf was saying.  “Like it just disappeared.”

“Get your ass on it,” Magnus said, “Or you’ll find your ass on a boat south.”

“You wouldn’t just kill me?”

“That shipment was worth more than the Carta brings in over the course of half a year.  I’d want you to suffer first.”

Alecto’s hand tightened on his mug.  His nostrils flared.  Theo shook his head again.   _ Stop.  Calm down, _ he mouthed.  But Alecto seethed even more, and the more they overheard of Magnus, Vitali, and the dwarf, the angrier he became until he slammed his mug on the table.  He shoved his chair back, knocking into a man behind him, who spilled his drink.  The man jumped up and spun around, grabbing Alecto by the collar.  “Fucking urchin,” he snapped.  “Watch where the fuck you’re going!”

Alecto’s wide eyes flicked to Theo and then to the table with Magnus and the others.  “Come on,” Theo said, getting up and getting between Alecto and the other man.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I keep telling you to watch what you’re doing,  _ cazzo _ ,” he said, grabbing Alecto’s arm.  He avoided looking toward Magnus.  He steered Alecto away but the man grabbed him by the wrist-- the wrong wrist.

“Next time--” he began, then pulled him closer and shoved up his sleeve.  “What the…”

Theo brought his right hand down hard the crook of the man’s elbow.  He grunted and released Theo’s arm.  But everyone in the vicinity had seen the skeletal metal where a real hand should have been.

Theo pushed through to the exit, aware of the scrape of chairs behind him.  Outside on the docks it was now dark with only a few lamps burning, but he was so accustomed to the city now, that he found his way easily enough.  He undid his cloak as he ran and let it fall; he moved faster.  Ahead of him Alecto ran and ducked down an alley.  Theo didn’t follow; they had a better chance if they separated, and reconvened later.

His legs stopped working.  His arm stopped working.  Everything stopped, but he could still breathe, could still hear, could see the dirty cobblestones rising to meet him as he fell forward, completely paralyzed.  He felt everything as someone grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him into a dirty alley.  He could hear the heavy footfalls of Titus Magnus approach, and then the Magister turned him over.  

Magnus examined his left arm.  He undid the buckles holding it in place and carefully looked over Theo’s elbow stump.  He started laughing.

“Awful lot of effort for two street rats,” the Carta dwarf said, breathing heavily as he joined him.

Magnus shook his head.  “Not sure about the other one, but he can come along.   _ This  _ one is no street rat.  This one’s going to get us exactly what we want.  Take them both to the place on the other side of town.  I’ll even send transport.”

“Someone’s going to see.”

Magnus’s grin spread.  “You sure about that?”  Already a heavy fog was rolling in off the water, and the dwarf chuckled and muttered something about ‘fucking mages.’  “Get working, this one’s slippery,” he said, prodding Theo with his toe.  “And the spell will fade when I leave.”

“You’re leaving?”

“The Augur hears about this one personally.”  He walked off into the mists, Theo’s false arm dangling from his beefy hand.

* * *

  
  


Theo would have loved to be able to tell Dorian and Maevaris about Titus Magnus and this new player in their game: the Augur.  But he was quite firmly trussed up on a dusty wooden floor-- at least he thought it was wood, it was hard to tell with a rough sack over his head-- and a wad of material tied in his mouth that tasted like he imagined socks would taste.

He could see shadows moving around, could hear Alecto whimpering somewhere nearby.  Then the sack was pulled off and Theo squinted in the dim light.  Vitali of the Watch hauled Alecto to his feet.  The younger man was begging unintelligibly as Vitali began strapping him to an upright table.  Theo’s heart pounded and much as he’d thought he’d stay calm, he did try to struggle, grunting and hoping to beg for Alecto’s life.  It was him they wanted anyway.  He tried to meet Alecto’s eyes, but he couldn’t, especially once Vitali pulled the leather strap around Alecto’s forehead, immobilizing him.

“Hey.  Teris.  Are we supposed to wait to get started?”

The dwarf looked up from the knife he was sharpening.  “With that one?  Probably not.  We can do him, and then get that one ready.  You ever see the Augur?”

Vitali snorted.  “Please.  Sop like me?  I’m lucky I’ve got  _ this _ much going for me.”  He walked past Theo and jiggled something in the fireplace.  Then he passed him again and looked around on a shelf before pulling something out and heading back to Alecto.  “Ugh.  Only reason I wish we had a mage here: Silencing spells.  I hate it when they start screaming.”

Teris chortled.  His knife sang along the whetstone.  Vitali pulled the gag from Alecto’s mouth, and sure enough, he started bawling, screaming and begging.  Vitali grabbed him by the chin and forced his mouth open, and began wedging a metal contraption into in.  The screams turned to howls.  Theo twisted his right wrist against the ropes binding it to his torso and only succeeded in rubbing off layers of skin.

“Your turn,” Vitali told Teris.  “And you get to watch,” he said, almost cheerful while he hauled Theo into a sitting position.  He grabbed him by a hunk of hair and made him stare at Alecto.  

Theo tried to thrash, tried to do anything other than sit there and stare as the young man he’d rescued from this fate howled with abject fear.  Teris kicked a small step stool over.  He stepped up.  

Theo couldn’t watch.  He hated himself for it but he couldn’t.

The shriek that filled the room filled Theo with icy water in his veins.  It got worse when Teris cauterized the wound.  Theo knew the burning pain well enough.

Vitali dropped him and his head thunked on the floor.  His eyes were hot with tears: anger, helplessness, fear for himself.  Vitali undid the straps holding Alecto to the table and dropped him to the floor.  Alecto kept sobbing.  And then the Watchman hauled Theo up, and Theo thrashed about, anything to stall for time, to save himself, to at least save Alecto’s life.

Teris slammed a large fist into his gut and Theo doubled over, the breath leaving him.  Vitali didn’t bother untying him, just let Teris hold Theo in place as he pulled the series of straps to hold Theo in place.  He immobilized Theo’s head and then smiled.  “I don’t know who you are, but you’ve been causing a  _ lot _ of trouble for everyone the last few months.”  He met Theo’s eyes.  “You going to scream like him?” he asked.  “Bet you screamed when you lost this,” he said, patting Theo’s left elbow.

“Just get him open,” Teris snapped, tossing the metal contraption to Vitali.

Theo would have loved to spit in Vitali’s eye the moment he pulled the wad of material out of his mouth, but his mouth was too dry, and he hardly had a chance to say anything before Vitali forced his jaws apart and wedged the metal frame between his teeth.  “Careful.  Don’t want to break any teeth.” He patted Theo’s cheek.  “Hate when that happens, too.”

Theo didn’t know if he should pray.  He was painfully aware that he’d let Maevaris borrow his sending crystal, all in the name of keeping Dorian safe.  He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how much his jaw already ached.   _ That’s why I came here.  I promised to protect him, _ he tried to reason.

It didn’t change the fact he was scared shitless.  He remembered every horrible thing he’d seen in the Deep Roads, everything that led to this moment in this place.

A door creaked and Teris and Vitali jumped to attention.  Theo’s eyes flicked toward the sound.  Titus Magnus ambled in, and the other two just sighed.  “The Augur is on the way,” he announced.  Then he grinned.  “Inquisitor Trevelyan.  Welcome to Minrathous.”

Vitali raised an eyebrow, and then laughed. “This is the Inquisitor?”  Then he stopped and his eyes widened.  “Wait, the one that Pavus fop was fucking?”

“I’m sure he cleans up well enough,” Magnus said, looking Theo over.  “Leave it to Pavus to not only fuck a man, but a sop at that.”

Theo’s ears burned and he clenched his hand, even though he could do nothing.  Dorian was ten times the mage Magnus would ever be.  Dorian would have tried to improve things for Vitali and the Aureos family, and everyone in the Imperium, not just the Magisters.

“I’m not sure if this is sweet or not,” Magnus said with another grin.  His big, flat finger dragged across Theo’s cheek.  “I think he’s crying.  After what he did to the Venatori, he should be.”  He reached out and Teris set something in his hands.  Theo’s breath hissed in through his nose--but it wasn’t a knife.  The relief was short lived.

Magnus stuck the pair of metal tongs into his mouth and clamped them around Theo’s tongue.  He let out something between a yelp and a growl and everyone laughed while Alecto sobbed and shuddered on the floor, otherwise forgotten.  “I’d hate to think where this one’s been,” he said, tugging and twisting Theo’s tongue around with the tongs and examining it.

“Having fun without me?”

Magnus dropped the tongs.  “My apologies.” He sounded frightened, and truly sorry.

The man had a cultured, smooth voice, and sounded slightly put out.  His wide hood cast a shadow over his face.  “Kill the other one,” he said, and Theo couldn’t hold back the wordless shout as Teris grabbed Alecto and cut his throat.  Alecto’s eyes were huge and bulging and his bound hands tried to to reach for his throat for a split second before he bled out over the floor.  Then he stood before Theo, gazing at him for a long moment.  “Did you save that one’s tongue?  I may have use for it.”

Vitali used the tongs to pick up Alecto’s tongue.  The hooded man, the Augur, touched it with a frost spell, freezing and preserving it.  “Kindly release Trevelyan,” he ordered Vitali and the dwarf, who rushed to obey.  Without the straps holding him up, Theo collapsed, but Magnus caught him.  Teris worked the metal out of Theo’s mouth.

“Celares?” Theo asked, but his sore, stretched jaw mangled the word horribly.

“That won’t do.” The hooded man fumbled around on the floor until he found the wad of material that Vitali had dropped.  “I know you have questions,” he began, and Theo nearly asked if he was Solas.  But the man--Celares?--was already gagging him again, catching his hair in the knot at the back of his head.  “But I’d rather you save them.” He found the burlap sack and pulled it over Theo’s head, casting the room into moving shadows once more.

“The Augur will be pleased,” he announced at last.  He grunted slightly as he got Theo to his feet.

“But I thought--”

“You thought.  And you were wrong.”

Theo heard surprised yelps of pain.  “We’re serving Celares!” Magnus shouted, sounding pained.  

“Yes.  And now Celares has a secret.  Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead,” the man said.  

Theo felt heat and heard horrible shrieks of pain, and then the man was dragging him along, both of them stumbling as Theo tried to shuffle.  Then the cool night air surrounded him, and the man, Celares, the Augur, whoever the fuck he was, heaved him into the back of a flat cart.  He hummed as he arranged some crates around him, then tucked a blanket over everything.  The cart took off at a slow walk away from the crackling fire that smoldered in the basement of the building.

If this man wasn’t Celares, who was?  Moreover, who was the Augur?

Theo knew that, whether he wanted to or not, he was going to find out.


	37. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part IV: The Augur

#  Chapter 37: Complications

Gavia shook Dorian out of a deep sleep, in the middle of a very pleasant dream in which Theo in a green silk shirt featured prominently.  “What is it?” he asked, but given that his face was still half-buried in the pillow and his mind was still half in sleep, it came out “Wassit”.

“Visitors,” she said, heading over to the closet.  “A bit of light, if you please?”  Dorian didn’t turn over, but waved his hand toward the closet and a ball of pale magelight floated her way.  “It’s Magister Tilani, and a retinue of individuals I’ve not yet met,” she said, pulling out a midnight blue silk robe and matching loose trousers.  She laid these out on the foot of the bed.

“Time s’it?”  Dorian propped himself up on his elbows.  It was still dark.

“Close to sunrise.”

“ _ Kaffas.” _  Dorian sat up, the sheets falling away.  Gavia turned her back and left him to dress.  He pulled on the trousers and robe and hastily belted it about his waist.  He didn’t bother with slippers, and the marble floors were cool underfoot.  He came out into the sitting room to see Maevaris, Maranda, Varric, and Cardenio.  “Where is he?” Dorian asked immediately.

“Not sure yet,” Cardenio began, and held up his hands in a futile sign of defense when Dorian’s mana caused an audible crackle of lightning around them.  “He may be keeping a low profile in a gutter somewhere for all we know.”

“What happened?” Dorian tried to wake up and reel in his magic at the same time.

“Titus Magnus is dead,” Maevaris said.  She was still in her clothes from the day before; they were rumpled and wrinkled and she’d undone a couple buckles and shoved up her sleeves.  Tendrils of blonde hair had escaped her usually coiffed updo.  “There was a fire downtown, in a basement of an abandoned tenement.  Four bodies.”

Bile burned sour at the back of Dorian’s throat.  “Theodane killed Magnus?”

“That’s what it looks like, but until we meet up with him, we won’t know,” Mae said.  “But it’s very incriminating of Magnus at least.”  She glanced over at Cardenio.

“Fine, fine, yes, I was there.  The great lout was dead with a Carta dwarf and a member of the City Watch… and one of ours,” he added in a softer voice.  “I believe he was captured, and killed before Theodane could rescue him.”

“I thought it was a fire,” Dorian said after a moment.  Cardenio and Mae nodded.  “Only a mage’s fire could burn so controlled.  Someone  _ wanted _ us to find that, and Theodane would not have been able to replicate those effects without magical ability.”  

_ “Venhedis,” _ Mae said softly.  

Next to her, Maranda was very, very pale.  She stared at the wall across the room.  “Andraste’s fiery ass,” she murmured.  “What did I do?”  Everyone stared at her.  “I… I told him that Titus Magnus was next on our list to investigate.  I got my brother killed.”  Her green eyes were wide and fearful and her breathing got faster and shallower.

Cardenio put a hand on her shoulders.  “We do not know that.”

Mae pulled the pins out of her hair and her locks tumbled down around her tired face.  “There will be another emergency session in a few hours,” she guessed.  

“And I’m supposed to sit here calmly, while my husband is out there running from the law, or maybe even dead?” Dorian snapped.  “ _ Fasta vass _ this is like that time in Halamshiral all over again.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m going back out to check our usual haunts,” Cardenio said.

“I’m going with you.”  Maranda stood.  She was already dressed more simply than she had taken to since arriving in Minrathous: black trousers, scuffed boots, a baggy tan chemise; and her long, dark hair was pulled back in a lopsided braid over one shoulder.  “Don’t even try arguing with me.  I can’t face my family again if something happened to him.  He’d do the same for me,” she added, and at last Cardenio sighed and stood up as well.

“It  _ will _ be useful having a mage with me this time,” he conceded, and left Varric, Mae, and Dorian alone in the sitting room.

Gavia tentatively stepped in, bearing a tray.  “Elfroot tea, with a touch of lavender,” she explained.  “A bit rustic, but will help calm you.”  She set the tray down and poured from the silver teapot.

Dorian was too keyed up to drink but he appreciated the thought and tried to breathe in the calming steam wafting up from the delicate porcelain cup like a ghost.  “Did you make headway with Tanicus?”  Mae asked, and Dorian shook his head.  “I know you’re starting to like the guy, but are you sure he didn’t let anything slip?”

“Other than being the latest in a long line to question my choice of romantic partner, he was… Tanicus,” Dorian said with a tired shrug.  “A little preoccupied with my innate talents, but they  _ are _ impressive.”

“He’s also clean,” Varric interjected.  He had dark circles under his eyes.  “I won’t tell you what it cost Kirkwall… or me that is, to find out, but the Carta despises the Thrassea family.  They champion legislation that opposes the Carta directly, and everything Fletch and Tiny found in the Deep Roads, and all Chanter’s uncovered up here, points to direct Carta involvement.”

“So what do we do?” Dorian finally asked.

“We see what the Archon has to say about this.  We wait for Cardenio to come back with Theodane and then you can zap him with lightning for making you so worried, and the rest of us will avoid vomiting over how sickeningly in love you both are,” Mae said with a tired smile.

She and Varric left shortly after, and Dorian headed back to his bedroom.  He flopped back into the silken sheets and feather pillows and stared at the ceiling.  The grey pre-dawn light made everything in his rooms fuzzy and dreamlike.  Agitated spirits flitted between the waking world and the Fade, feeding off of his racing thoughts and swirling emotions.  There’d be no going back to sleep.

Dorian got out of bed and dressed, choosing his broken in, comfortable brown leather mage armor he’d taken to during the Inquisition.  He buckled up his boots and adjusted the silverite embellishments before choosing a draping pale green robe to wear over the armor.  He grabbed his staff and headed out into the dawn.

The streets were empty but for the tendrils of fog crawling along close to the ground.  The smell of baking bread wafted from the cafes that lined the plaza, and from the bakeries one street down.  Dorian headed for the Magisterium.  He was allowed entrance though no one else was present.  Rather than head into the main chamber he sauntered down the stairs into the cool, darkened chambers beneath.  He found a room lit by veilfire and strode in.

Spirits floated around curiously, and he planted his staff in the lyrium sand at his feet.   _ Challenge me, _ he demanded, feeling the surge of mana within himself.

The first spirit lashed out, pulling through the Fade and into reality.  Dorian slammed it with an arcane bolt.  Two more came up behind him, and he pivoted and hit them with a gout of flame from the palm of his hand.   _ Keep coming, _ he demanded, his anger and helplessness drawing the attention of deep denizens of the Fade: emotions people kept hidden, kept bottled up.  Frustration came at him, tendrils flailing and big body looming over him.  Dorian hit it with a firestorm, but the beast kept coming.  It reached out and Dorian cast a static cage over the spirit and a shield over himself.

He fought, time sliding away from him and sweat dripping down his face.  Every time he thought he was ready to breathe and regain his composure something reminded him of the maelstrom of feelings within him.  He wanted to be optimistic, but something kept nagging at him, like pulling a hangnail; every time he tried to tug it off it stung, but only got worse.

“Pavus?”

Dorian wheeled around, sweeping his staff out before him.  A trail of hot flame shot out in an arc, and Tanicus countered it with a wall of ice.  At last Dorian dropped his staff head-first into the sand.  “Apologies. You’re just one of many who have caught me off guard before a reasonable time of the morning,” he said, shoving his hair back.  It stuck up in spikes from the sweat.

“Yes, Titus Magnus’s death is a shocking, made moreso by the circumstances,” Tanicus said.  “I know he often had it out for you.”

Dorian sniffed in disgust.  “I’m the suspect now, is that it?  He kept trying to frame me in life, and now he’s coming back at me from beyond the Veil?”

A sardonic smile teased at Tanicus’s lips.  “You  _ are  _ a Necromancer.”

Dorian couldn’t stifle his laugh, no matter how angry and frustrated he was.  He picked up his staff.  “I suppose the emergency session is about to be underway?”

“No.  In fact, Radonis has not called for anything, which is puzzling in light of the display he made after Vidia Salvana’s death.  I’m wondering if he’s of the belief that Magnus was the one behind everything, and was just deflecting attention from himself.”

“You really think he was that intelligent?” Dorian asked with a sniff.  “Not to disparage the dead, but, really.”

“It’s the prevailing theory.”

“Gossip, that is?”

“You certain you wouldn’t want to be Archon, Dorian?” Tanicus asked.

“I would resort to blood magic before I’d accept the position of Archon.”  Dorian sighed. “I’m sorry.  That was a bit intense.”

Tanicus shrugged.  “I suppose we’re all a bit on edge.  Have you eaten?”

They ended up in one of the nicer cafes on the corner near the Magisterium.  Dorian ordered a fruit salad and nibbled a piece of bread while he waited.  He was hungry but had no appetite.   _ Cardenio and Maevaris will be waiting when you get home, _ he thought.  He tried to pay attention to Tanicus but it was so hard when all he wanted was to get up and run to Mae’s.

“...those eluvians,” Tanicus was saying.  Dorian looked up from his coffee.  “What it must have been like going through those,” Tanicus repeated.  “I of course read the Inquisition reports once they were made public.  Especially the ones regarding the attempted Qunari invasion, as it stood to affect my work.”

“Yes, of course,” Dorian said with a weak smile.  “Tanicus, I’m sorry; I don’t mean to be preoccupied, and normally do enjoy your company, but…”

He nodded.  “Of course, you likely have much to think about given the current state of things.  If it’s any consolation I don’t believe that you had anything to do with Magnus’s death.  He likely crossed one too many people the wrong way.”

“He  _ did _ have a talent for that,” Dorian said.  He insisted on paying for the meal, his apology for being such terrible company, and headed over to Maevaris’s place.  She wasn’t home yet, so he headed back home.  No one dared to accost him or harass him, but he could feel the stares and hear the whispers as he walked.

When he arrived back at his place, Maranda and Cardenio were there, no closer to solving this latest mystery than they’d been when they’d left hours ago.  


	38. Celares

#  Chapter 38: Celares

Theo had every right to be suspicious, because in his experience, power-crazed madmen didn’t treat their underlings well, let alone their prisoners--if they took them at all.  And yet as soon as he’d been unloaded and dragged into wherever he was, he’d been treated relatively well.  He’d been untied and left in a small but comfortable room.  Someone came and brought him food and water, and then two slaves had led him to a room to get cleaned up.  Theo took his sweet time, and they sat there, silently watching him.  He would have bet his entire fortune that they too lacked tongues.

It was quiet here; it reminded him of when he was a child, and he’d run screaming through the house just to remind himself that people lived there.  He could hear every drop of water in the tub, every breath the slaves took, and every beat of his heart.  His heart beat rapidly and every move those two silent guards made had Theo on edge.  When he returned to his room--cell, he had to remind himself, no matter how comfortable it was-- a set of clothes had been laid out for him.  

Only when he was left alone did he let the towel drop and get dressed in a sleeveless black shirt and loose black trousers, the same thing the slaves wore.  He’d infiltrated the Minrathous underground, only to end up a slave of a Magister?  Or worse.  But Theo didn’t want to think about how it could be worse.

A narrow bed had been pushed into the corner, and he climbed up on the mattress and huddled in the corner, head lolling against one deep blue wall.  He didn’t want to sleep.  But he was so exhausted from the running, the fear, the injuries…  He stared down at his ring, which was finally visible again.  The mud and dirt and ash and blood of the streets had washed away.  Theo spun the band around his finger, using his thumb.  The lazy motion helped him clear his mind.

All he needed to do right now was be patient.  He wasn’t dead.  He wasn’t chained up to anything.  He still had his tongue.  He still had his ring.  And even if they were going to kill him, he’d seen enough to convince him that there were worse things than dying.

Exhaustion won out.  He was sore from being so tightly bound for so long.  His jaw ached.  His left arm felt pinpricks of ghost pain.  He leaned his head against the wall.  He did not dream, but at least he didn’t feel any pain.

When he woke later the light was still the same and the person sitting in the corner of his cell was watching him with alert dark eyes.  “Feeling better?” he asked Theo.

“That depends.  If you want me feeling better so you can torture me, then no.  I feel like shit.” Theo backed into the corner as far as he could and glared out at the man.  “If you’re just generally concerned about my well being, then sure, I feel a little better.”

He smiled.  “Your reputation is well-earned, Inquisitor Trevelyan.”

Theo shook his head.  Strands of hair fell into his face.  “I gave up being the Inquisitor.”

“And yet here you are in Minrathous, still trying to save the world.”

“It’s what I do.  I don’t have to be the Inquisitor to do that.  How about you?  Celares, I presume?”

The man stood and Theo kept his eyes on him.  He moved gracefully.  His dark eyes were wide, strangely curious and oddly kind.  “No, though I can see where the confusion would arise.  Come.”  He gestured for Theo to get up and follow him out the door.  When Theo didn’t move, he smiled.  “I am also aware of your reputation for being impressively stubborn, but honestly I don’t want to have to  _ make _ you follow me right now.”  

Theo sighed and got up.  His legs hurt and stiffness had settled into his shoulders.  He longed for a massage from Dorian’s strong, sure fingers.  “This is still Minrathous, right?”

The other man nodded.  “Oh yes.  We need to be in Minrathous, if this is to work.”

“I suppose you’re not going to explain why.”

He arched an eyebrow.  “And ruin the whole surprise?”

Theo followed him down a long tunnel that reminded him of the catacombs, and he wondered if that’s where they were going.  The tunnel was cool and damp, but smooth under his bare feet.  He heard the footsteps of the two black-clad servants behind him.  They went down into the cool silence, and eventually the corridor went up again.

They emerged in a room lit by veilfire with a relatively low ceiling; a stone slab, like an examining table, stood in the center of the room.  Shelves of books and neatly rolled scrolls occupied one wall.  A long shelf on another wall held bottles of glowing blue, deep, pure lyrium and fear clawed at Theo’s heart.  

“My love, we’ve arrived,” he said, his voice warm.   A woman stood up from where she’d been working against the far wall.  A smile lit up her ghostly pale face.  “And I brought you not only a subject, but the one who was behind the efforts to stymie you.”

She had platinum blonde hair that nearly faded into her skin, and large, dark blue eyes framed by dark lashes.  She was a contrast to the man, who had dark eyes and dark hair.  But they were both smiling, and she gave the man a quick kiss before turning her attention to Theo.  

While he’d never had more than a perfunctory discomfort from the glances and giggles women threw his way, Theo realized she was sizing him up: examining him as one might an animal, and he felt a flush creeping into his cheeks.  Her white hand ghosted over the scars on his elbow, then she turned to the man and rested another hand on his arm.  He stared into her eyes for a moment.  “Yes.  He’ll tell us where the rest of the lyrium is, and help us acquire the power we need to be successful.”  He smiled fondly down at her, and she nodded and waved her hand over toward the stone slab.

“ _ That _ is Celares,” he said as he nudged Theo toward the slab.  “My wife.”  He paused and then laughed.  “If your reaction is any indication of what everyone else’s will be, then this has been most worth it.”

Theo sat down on the slab and watched Celares and her husband.  The man reached into his pocket and pulled something out.  Theo squinted and in the pale green light of veilfire realized it was a frozen blob of flesh.  His stomach heaved.  “He had a name,” he said suddenly, watching the man rest the tongue in a wooden box.  “Alecto.  He was a blacksmith’s apprentice.”

“And he served the Imperium well, even if he doesn’t hold to that opinion.”  The man put the little box inside a longer one and sealed it with a glyph.  “Would you see that this is delivered?” he asked one of the slaves, after scribbling a quick note that he tucked into the box cover.  The slave disappeared up a spiral staircase.  Then he turned and held out his hand and Theo had that same sensation of feeling everything and nothing as his limbs went slack and his spine turned to jelly.

Celares caught him before his head slammed back against the stone, however, and helped her husband ease Theo into position.  She took his right arm and stretched it out.  “She wishes to apologize in advance.  This will hurt very much, but it’s necessary.  Also, she would prefer it silent while she works.”

“What is she--”  _ going to do? _  Theo finished in silence, as the husband touched his fingers to his lips.  

Celares turned Theo’s head to the right so he could see exactly what she was doing.  Her hands were ghostly pale on his arm; so much time in the Tevinter sun had tanned him darker than he’d thought.  She laid out several tools where he could see them: a puncturing tool and small silver mallet; a curved blade that made his heart race when he remembered the Venatori; and a straight silver blade.  She jiggled at the side of the slab, and a small channel opened up under his arm.  She turned his arm this way and that and examined it for a moment, and then picked up the puncturing tool and mallet.

Theo  _ wanted _ to struggle but he couldn’t.  In a way this was worse than being bound, because at least then he knew he was  _ doing _ something.  He stared, utterly helpless as she positioned the tool, very much like a long, gleaming needle, over a point in his forearm.  She tapped and it stabbed into him.

He screamed, but he didn’t scream.  He wanted to but couldn’t, and that was worse.  She repeated the punctures in a very particular order, for a total of eight holes in his arm.  The blood bubbled up in red pearls.  His arm throbbed.  Then she picked up the straight blade and touched it to one of the punctures.  She angled the knife and dragged it in a straight line to another puncture.  She methodically traced between the punctures, digging in the blade enough to knick his veins, but not slice so deeply that he would bleed out.  There was an elegance to her actions, and the more lines she cut into him, the less Theo worried about struggling and the more he began to appreciate the beauty.  

Celares paused, the knife still in his arm, and met his eyes.  She smiled, and with her other hand brushed his sweat-soaked hair off his forehead.  She finished connecting the punctures and then turned his arm so the rivulets of blood would run into the channel.  Then she drew the curved knife across her palm, and handed it to her husband.  He did the same, and they took turns pressing their bleeding hands against the marks she’d carved into Theo’s forearm.

“Bound by blood,” the husband said, and Celares just mouthed the words.  Then he pulled out a length of linen and began wiping the blood off of Theo’s arm, being particularly cautious of the places where the cuts criss-crossed.  Theo didn’t even care anymore.  His mind felt pleasantly fuzzy.  He watched as Celares set a glass vial wrapped in silver filigree on the stone slab.  It was filled with his blood.  She filled another one, mouthed some words, and then capped them.  She grabbed a candle and dripped dark blue wax over the top to seal it, then handed one bottle to her husband and took the other for herself.

“I’ll take him back?  Let him rest?” he asked, and she nodded, smiling, her eyes tired.  He hugged her and brushed her silvery hair off her shoulder.  “Be well,  _ Augur Celarea,” _ he said.  

* * *

  
  


There was an elegance to the simplicity and precision with which Celares had cut the strange design into Theo’s arm, and the thought that he could appreciate it nauseated him.  He stared at the perfectly straight lines, connecting the perfectly spaced puncture marks, with the one unconnected puncture, the first one she’d made, in the center.  He didn’t remember much of anything about it all; one moment he’d been staring in helpless horror, and the next he was here, in this elegant room with the wide windows open onto the Minrathous evening.

The paralysis spell had broken long ago with no lasting effects.  He rolled off the chaise he’d been reclining on and padded to the window.  He looked down a short lawn to the water of the channel lapping at a rocky wall that had been built up.  Across the channel, the spires of the Magisterium and the Circle stabbed into the deep blue sky.  Overhead the stars winked.  He was too far north to notice any constellations he’d learned from his uncles when they took him out hunting as a boy.  They were just stars here.

“They call me the Conservator, if you’d like to use that name.”  Theo turned around, stared at Celares’s husband for a moment, then turned back to the window.  

“Kind of like how she’s the Augur?”  The name stuck out in Theo’s mind, a bright beacon of memory in a sea of incoherent thought.  He didn’t want to talk to this man.  He didn’t even want to be in Tevinter anymore.  He leaned his head against the glass.  “Do  _ any  _ of you have real names?”

“You’re southern, so I can appreciate that there’s much you don’t know about Tevinter history or culture, regardless of the fact that you are so… close with a Tevinter Magister.”

The oblique reference to Dorian stabbed Theo’s heart like an awl.  

“Have a seat,” the Conservator said.  Theo didn’t move.  He stared out the window, at the sky, out at the city… and then he was moving, sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs in the room.  The Conservator smiled.  “While I don’t wish to make a habit of controlling you, I can if I want to.  This is a subtle, and this time painless reminder of that.”

Theo looked down at his arm again.  “Blood magic.  Big shock,” he said dryly.  He clenched his hand into a fist and willed his anger and shame to remain at bay.  He had literally been paralyzed and could do nothing.  “So what are you, some Venatori throwbacks?”

The Conservator smoothed his dark hair back.  “No.  The Venatori… they were shortsighted.  I’m sure your Magister told you quite a bit about them, and you dealt with many of them in your travels.”  Theo nodded.  “But they worshipped Corypheus, who, as you proved, was vulnerable.”

Theo did smile in spite of himself at that.  “He did have a little help from a certain Elven god that I wouldn’t mind hunting down and killing eventually.  Though I’m starting to get the idea that I’m likely never leaving here.”

The Conservator just shrugged.  “The future is a mystery.  And that’s what happened: the Venatori didn’t respect that.  Alexius’s time bending magic was brilliant, but the future he nearly allowed to happen was inexcusable.”

Theo was actually glad he didn’t have a left hand at this moment; the cuts over his right arm itched terribly, and he may have scratched off the scabs and let more blood bubble out, giving the Conservator more to work with.  How would he know about everything that happened at Redcliffe those  years back?  Did he know any last Venatori holdouts?

“What made their Corypheus worship so shortsighted?” Theo asked at last.

“He was a powerful monster, but he was merely a priest of an Old God.  Dumat.  God of silence.”

Theo laughed in spite of himself.  “For a priest of silence he certainly liked the sound of his own voice.”

He cocked his head to the side.  “I would be interested to hear more about your experience with him later on,” the Conservator said.  “But when it comes down to it, why worship one of the disgraced priests of the Old Gods, when you can worship an Old God itself?”

“I know my Chantry history.  Or is it folklore?” Theo asked.  “And I know five of the seven rose as archdemons.  The Old Gods are just dragons, and they’re just waiting to be corrupted.”

“And that is where the Chantry is wrong.  Well, one of the places,” the Conservator said with a chuckle.  “What if the next one was spared corruption?  What if she was woken and raised from slumber in her pure, true form, to rule as she was meant to?”

It was Theo’s turn to laugh.  “You lot are insane.  You may as well just kill me now and save us all the trouble.”

He shook his head again.  “No, no, no.  You don’t understand.  We’re on the cusp of having the power we need to waken the next Old God.  Do you know what Corypheus means?”  Theo shrugged.  He didn’t think he really cared.  He’d defeated the thing nearly four years ago.  “It means Conductor.  The Conductor of Silence.  The Sidereal had roles based on their gods.  Dumat’s priest was the Conductor of Silence, and Urthemiel’s was the Architect of Beauty.  Razikale’s was  _ Augur Celarea _ .  The Augur of Mysteries.”

Theo blinked.  “Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead,” he repeated, and the Conservator nodded.  “The tongues… it was never about keeping people from talking if they escaped, because Andtraste’s  _ tits _ no one would believe this shit.  It was symbolic.  Keeping secrets.  And your wife…”

“She is the current high priestess of Razikale.  The Augur.  And she cut out her own tongue when she pledged herself to the Old God.” The pride in his voice made Theo sick to his stomach.  

“So… where do I fit into all this?” Theo asked.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but perhaps if he did find out, he could start figuring out a way to get out of this.

“You managed to steal something very important to us, and you will help us get it back so we can finish our Lady’s work.”  Then his face softened.  “Also, I like mysteries, if you couldn’t tell, and you may be the greatest mystery of them all.”  Theo rolled his eyes and snorted derisively.  “How did you, a young, southern soporati boy, manage to captivate one of the most powerful mages the Imperium has ever produced?”  He cocked his head to the side and laid a finger against his chin.  Then his smile spread again.  “Moreover, what will he be willing to do to rescue his love?”

Theo went cold: he was bait.


	39. Setting a Trap

#  Chapter 39: Setting a Trap

Cardenio was finally worried, which was enough to set Dorian on edge.  When Varric knocked on the door, it was Cardenio who jumped up and got it, ushering him in.  “So?”

“There was a tavern brawl that wasn’t a brawl the same night Magnus was killed,” Varric said.  “No one really remembered specifics, just that Titus Magnus was there, and that a kid bumped into a bigger guy and nearly got his face rearranged before someone with a metal arm broke it up.  That turned into a chase, and then it was too foggy for anyone to really remember what was going on that night in that area,” Varric finished.  

Cardenio leaned back on the sofa and flipped one of his knives in the air.  He wore a deep scowl on his face.  “I should not have left him alone,” he said at last.

Varric let out a mirthless chuckle.  “Chanter, if you’d seen half the shit he got himself into and out of, you wouldn’t be punishing yourself quite this badly.”  Suddenly he straightened up.  “Do you have the lyrium still?”  Cardenio nodded.  “When you both first liberated it, you said it was to draw out Celares,” Varric reminded him, and Cardenio caught his knife and slid it into his holster.  “Don’t go get it yet, but… it’s a strong possibility that we could draw him out with that, and maybe get more information.”

Through all of this Maranda sat with her legs tucked under her in a comfortable chair.   _ This could have happened no matter what, _ she told herself, but it was still hard to look over at her brother-in-law with his dark hair sticking up at strange angles; the shadow appearing on his cheeks and jaw; and the wounded, defeated look in his grey eyes.

Varric headed into a guest room to get some rest, and Dorian went to his room, a bottle of Aureos whiskey dangling from his hand.  “Come get me from my alcohol-induced stupor if anything useful happens,” he said, and sauntered off.  Maranda was reasonably certain he’d spent the last couple of days on the edge of just drunk enough to keep coping.

“I really am sorry,” Cardenio said when they were alone.

“It’s not your fault,” Maranda told him.  “Theo… he’s an adult, first and foremost.  And he practically ruled the world for two years.  He’s stubborn and proud, maybe even more since he lost his arm.  You could have ordered him to remain behind, but he wouldn’t have listened, because he’s a Trevelyan, and we do stubborn better than anyone.”

Cardenio rested his arm on the back of the sofa.  “You care for him.”

“He’s my little brother.  Of course I do.”

He nodded.  “We will stop Celares.  It’s personal now.”

She managed a smile.  “Than you, Cardenio.”

“Here.  Take the sofa and lay down.  You are exhausted.”

Maranda wanted to argue with him, but couldn’t.  She crawled onto the sofa and grabbed a throw pillow.  She felt bad-- her hair was dirty and she would probably drool; but she was so tired…

The Fade mirrored Minrathous, but quiet and peaceful and empty.  She knew she was in the Fade because the Fade couldn’t mimic the smells of the city.  It was like being in a painting.  No breeze blew, no people walked past. The clouds in the sky didn’t move, and always somewhere, on what passed for a horizon here, was the Black City: a constant reminder of humanity’s hubris.

Maranda started walking; at first she recognized much of what she saw: the parts of Minrathous she’d been frequenting were solid.  She headed down the streets that she knew led to the dockside and the harbor, and things started to blur into what she thought they should look like, based on Theo and Cardenio’s descriptions, and what she  _ thought _ the dirty docksides should look like.  Some of it had a basis in her memories of Ostwick’s harbor.

Maranda wandered the dock; the ocean was silent, as if painted into the backdrop of her mind.  The sky began to darken and she headed back uptown.  The stars winked into the sky, at least as much as they could in the Fade.  She wandered into the Minrathous Circle, into the empty library and up the stairs.  Around her the shelves shifted; books drifted through the air and spirits of learning and knowledge floated around.  They would have done so in the library anyway; and in this section of the Fade, as she remembered it, the spirits happily joined her.

She got to the top floor.  The observatory wasn’t glassed in, and she could see only a few bright stars in a very specific pattern.  The constellation Eluvia winked down at her, and the Wishing Star, Celares, shone bright.   _ I wish to find my brother, _ she thought.

_ What would you give to have your desires met? _

“Begone, Demon,” Maranda said aloud and sighed.  She sat in one of the leather chairs next to the bookshelves.  She should have known she’d be an easy target.

One of the spirits materialized in front of her.  She looked much like Maranda did, and it was with a sense of discomfort in her gut that Maranda realized the demon looked very much like a feminine version of Theo.  “You’ve searched all over Minrathous itself, and now come to the Fade looking for him,” the demon said.  “And you’re not the first.  What is it about this boy that draws people to him?  Why is he such a bright star to so many?”

“He’s my brother,” Maranda said in a flat voice.  “He’s family.  Of course I need to find him.”

“You weren’t even there when he was born.  Why is he so special now?  Don’t you want something else?  Something more?”

“Didn’t you just ask me the same thing?” Dorian asked, coming up the stairs.  He leaned in the threshold.  “Your kind understands desire; but you don’t understand  _ why _ we desire what we do.  Maybe in time you could, but that time is not now.  Leave.”

The green-eyed demon pouted.  “Fine.  This isn’t the last of me, though.”

“It never is,” Dorian said with a smile and a wave of his hand.  The demon floated up and into the night.  “You know, I so rarely see you do magic that I forget you’re a mage.  Then I find you here.”

Maranda gestured for him to join her and he did, pulling up a high-backed chair in red brocade that hadn’t previously been there.  “I think I’m sleeping, but there’s so much going on in my mind that I’m more than dreaming.”

“You and me both, my dear.”  Dorian stared up at the stars.  “I suppose our mutual desire to locate Theodane drew us here.”

She nodded, and then sat up straighter.  “Dorian… how… unethical would it be to use this to our advantage?”

“Excuse me?”

It went against everything Maranda had been taught, and she wondered if somewhere beyond the Veil her two templar uncles would be bowing their heads in shame.  “The stars.  That’s the constellation Eluvia.  It’s the constellation of wishes.  Wishes are manifested desires.  Desire demons…”

“...could lead you to your query.” The demon reappeared next to a spyglass in the corner.  “But what would you give me in return I wonder.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes at the demon.  “Not entirely unethical, but not baseless, either.  Go away, demon.  We’ll call if we require you.”  The demon sighed and winked out of sight once more.  Dorian’s grin curled the edges of his mustache.  “I must say, that’s quite creative of you.”

Her heart skipped.  “Wait.  How do I know you’re really Dorian?”

He arched his eyebrow.  “I could tell you things about your brother that only a lover would know.  Things that a sister probably should not know,” he teased, and Maranda zapped him with a small bolt of lightning.  “But I’ll just tell you that I never thought to ever truly love someone, until a certain uncertain young man from Ostwick risked everything to be with me.”

“Always a poet,” Maranda said with a smile.  

“You’ve been in Minrathous long enough that you’re starting to fit in.  What do you suggest?” Dorian asked.

“We follow desires,” she said, staring up at the constellation.  “Between you, myself, and Maevaris, three strong mages, we should be able to find  _ something _ .  Especially if Celares is operating within the city.”

“Maranda, dear, I am so thrilled to be related to you,” Dorian said, and squeezed her hand.

It was risky, but then again, she hadn’t agreed to come along because this was safe.

 

* * *

 

Maevaris arrived in the afternoon.  “Just came from meeting with Lucrezia.  Her family is working to exonerate Hector with the proof Theodane brought.  And Atticus Carduelis is prepared to testify against Virnius for blackmailing him into stepping down,” she said. “Also, you have a delivery.”  She held the door open, and Dorian meandered over.  “Dorian, no!” she snapped, and Maranda, Varric, and Cardenio all jumped up to see.

Maranda spied a long box in the hall, tied with string.  It seemed innocuous, but Dorian looked quite chastised as he stared down at it.  “You are one of  _ the _ strongest mages out there, and while you have considerable prowess, you have zero common sense sometimes,” Maevaris said.  Everyone filed out into the hallway and they stood around the box.

“It could be a trap,” Maranda said and Maevaris nodded her thanks.  “Let me.  Dorian could set it off just by virtue of it being him who’s checking.”

Maranda reached out with tendrils of mana pulled from the Fade.  She sent her magic out over the box, and while there was a faint tang of magic to it, it felt more like an echo of a spell that was wearing off with each passing moment, and a simple elemental spell at that.  “I think it’s safe,” she announced, and bent down to pick it up.

Varric held his breath, and Cardenio leaned forward, ready to shove her out of the way if something happened when she touched it.  

Nothing happened.

The box was light, and Maranda carried it back into Dorian’s apartment.  She undid the string with nimble fingers.  “Ready?” she asked.

“I’ll do it.”  Dorian nudged her out of the way.  He caught her eye and nodded, and Maranda stepped to the side.  Dorian took a deep breath and let it out, and she felt him readying a shield spell just in case.  But when he opened the box, nothing happened.  A small piece of parchment rested atop a piece of white linen.  Dorian unfolded it.  He stared at it, still as a statue.  Maranda plucked the note from his fingers as he dropped a trembling hand to the box.

Maranda read the note, written in neat print.   _ He doesn’t need these anymore. _  “Dorian, don’t--”

But he’d removed the linen and stared down at the contents: Theo’s false arm, stained with blood and caked with dirt; and in a smaller wooden box, his frozen tongue with the ice spell slowly wearing off.

Varric swore and Maevaris gagged.  The length of linen in Dorian’s hand burst into flames.  But Maranda kept staring at those pieces of her baby brother and it got harder and harder to breathe, and Dorian’s apartment was getting darker and darker and then Cardenio grabbed her and carried her to the sofa.  Vaguely she heard Mae trying to call for calm, but Dorian’s curtains were now burning, and when she slipped into the Fade his shadowy form was surrounded by spirits of grief and loss.

 


	40. Bound by Blood

#  Chapter 40: Bound by Blood

The Conservator lived in a sprawling manor house staffed by quiet slaves who communicated with glances and subtle gestures that were enough to drive Theo mad.  He was clean, well dressed, and comfortable and fed, but he missed the noise of the city.  He had free reign of the house, but every time he so much as  _ looked _ at a door fiery pain shot up his right arm and his brain went slightly fuzzy for a moment.  When it cleared he couldn’t remember what he’d been doing.

He knew that there was a passage downstairs that would lead him out of this place, but it would also mean entering the Augur’s workspace and he didn’t know if he could do that again.  Maybe it was the effects of the blood magic spell binding him to this building, or maybe he just didn’t want to face her again in her pale, luminous, ominous silence.

Instead he wandered around the manor house, familiarizing himself with the layout and the rooms.  Leliana had always sent out scouts first.  That’s what he was doing now.  He’d been granted a position at the enemy’s side, and he just had to learn all he could.

Still for all the Conservator had said about Old God worship, Theo found only a little.  Of course the library had books about Tevinter history and the Old Gods. He pulled a book off a shelf and paused. The blood spell didn’t activate.  He opened the book.  Nothing.  He settled in a chair and skimmed over some of it.  It made for dull, dry reading, and he replaced it on the shelf.  Still, if he found himself  _ really _ bored someday, which would be likely, at least he knew this was here.

The next room over was more like a long hallway with a high, arched ceiling.  Alcoves in the walls showcased rare artifacts.  Some of them reminded Theo of things he’d seen while in the field on Inquisition missions.  One shelf had a stone tablet, about half his height, depicting robed, staff-wielding mages standing before a long-haired woman holding aloft a skull with curved horns.  He couldn’t read the runes carved in the relief, but he could, oddly enough, sense the power contained in them.

Other similar tablets were on display as well, and a marble podium with a glass cover held a book:  _ Pensa Sapientiae _ .  At the end of the hall, not far behind the podium, was a round room with a glass dome.  Theo squinted at the sky above him: clear, blue, and bright.  Maybe he’d come back at later, when he could see the night sky clearly.

He headed back to the bedroom that had been designated as his.  The comfortable room still felt like a prison, because his own blood formed the bars of the cell.  There had to be a way to reverse a blood magic spell.  Theo flopped on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling not just helpless, but hopeless and clueless as well.  Maybe he wasn’t as smart as people gave him credit for; maybe he was only as intelligent as the people around him.

He sat up suddenly, as if pulled by a string.  He turned toward the doorway to see Celares standing there, her long silvery blonde hair loose about her shoulders.  When she wasn’t hovering over him, she was quite petite.  The Iron Bull would have been able to snap her like a twig; his huge hand would fit around her waist.  Her midnight-blue robes draped from her shoulders and were belted about her waist with a silver braided cord, and from that cord hung a glass bottle wrapped with silver wire, and sealed with blue wax.  Theo instinctively knew that the little bottle was filled with his blood.

When Celares smiled, it was warm and fond and the corners of her indigo eyes crinkled, the only hint that she wasn’t ageless.  She could have been the Augur of Mystery reborn, for all Theo knew: nothing like Corypheus, perhaps because her Old God had not yet been corrupted.  She stared at him and he stood up and walked around the room, then sat down in the center of the decorative rug. Then he had a poker in his hand from the rack near the hearth.

Theo didn’t think about any of it; he just went through the motions, and when a slave entered and stood next to Celares, she only had to point at the man and Theo lunged at him with the poker.  

She stood back, watching, as the terrified servant tried to avoid Theo’s wild swings.  Theo had the advantage of graceful footwork on his side, and he moved without thought, dancing across the marble floor and swinging the iron poker through the air.  The poker caught the slave across the back and he pitched forward, catching himself on his hands and knees.  He closed his eyes and Theo stood over him, poised to strike.

Suddenly Theo was standing over a terrified slave who looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes, trying to shield his face with his arm.  Theo blinked and looked at the poker in his hand and scuttled backward.  The instrument clattered to the floor and he looked at Celares with horror.  “Please don’t,” he said to her, his voice low and trembling.  “I don’t want to be a killer.”  He’d killed before, yes: but in self defense; in war.  Not unarmed, unsuspecting slaves whose lives were at the whim of a mad priestess.

Celares furrowed her brow.  She cupped the little bottle of blood in her hand and Theo backed up toward the poker once more.  At first he didn’t want to; then he couldn’t resist; and then he’d drifted away in his own mind and didn’t think at all.

There was no blood stain on the floor when he returned to his senses, but it was also nearly dark and he couldn’t remember the last few hours.  It was terrifying, and he realized there would be no gauging the passage of time accurately.  

He got up slowly.  He didn’t hurt at all, and didn’t notice any new bruises or cuts: blood-magic related or otherwise.  The slices along his right forearm itched fiercely.  Maybe that was part of the spell.  He went out into the hallway and heard a voice coming from the library.  He moved slowly, quiet as a ghost.

“I’m not being impatient, I honestly think the time has come.”  The Conservator sounded calm as always.  “Acquiring our lyrium won’t be difficult.  And the Venatori holdouts are so desperate to be part of something again, something that promises them power, that convincing them to join up will be a very simple matter.”

“Are you certain it’s not pride that gives you your confidence?”  Another man, a voice Theo didn’t recognize.

“If it’s pride, it’s pride that we’ve come so far and are so close to the impossible.  I understand not rushing, but why be cautious?  Why put off what we’ve worked to achieve?”  He paused.  “We have a guest.”

Theo sighed.  Fucking blood magic.  He stood in the entryway to the library.  “Sorry I overheard your monologue,” he said.

The Conservator smiled and shook his head.  “No you’re not, but I appreciate the attempt at civility.  Please, come in.”  

Out of curiosity Theo planted himself firmly in the doorway and gave the Conservator, Celares, and the old man with them a pleasant smile.  The Conservator’s grin spread.  “Oh, you are going to be  _ fun _ .”

Theo expected to lose control of himself again and be forced to enter the room, but instead he fell face-first onto the floor.  His vision exploded in white and green and red light and his nose throbbed. He got to his feet, regardless of the way his body protested, and slammed into a stone pillar in the center of the room.  The impact forced the air out of his lungs and he didn’t have a chance to catch his breath before he was forced to his knees, staring up at Celares and the Conservator on the sofa before him.  The Conservator reached out and tilted his chin up.  “I don’t believe in suffering for the sake of it, and my colleagues who do are misguided.  But if it’s what teaches you that your blood is in our power, then I will do what’s necessary.”

Theo swallowed a mouthful of blood.  “Thanks for the attempt at civility,” he said with a reddened grin.  It hurt all over, but it was good.  It meant he’d fought back.  He vowed right then that the only reason he would do what he was told was if his mind was not his own; and he would fight to keep it from getting to that point.

The old man chuckled.  “Perhaps you’re right, my boy. Maybe it is time”

Celares reached out a delicate hand and lightly tapped Theo’s nose.  The pain subsided and he could breathe through it again, if with some difficulty from the blood.  She touched her hand to his forehead and thoughts of defiance and rebellion faded away until he was floating in a pleasant state of thoughtlessness.

It was dawn when Theo woke, and the night before seemed like a dream.   _ Fuck _ , he thought, rolling over and punching the feather pillow.  He was even losing track of how often he lost track of himself now.  There had to be a way around it all, something he could do to block it out.  But the problem lay in the fact that he didn’t know  _ what _ he was blocking out.  There was no command or switch.  The scabbed-over design on his arm didn’t itch or throb in warning, the way the Anchor had on his left hand.  One moment he was there, and the next he was emerging from a mental fog.

_ Did I kill anyone? _ He wondered, looking at his hand.  Celares wasn’t above making him kill someone, just to prove she could do it. Just to drive home that he wasn’t ever fully in control of himself anymore.

A light rap sounded on his bedroom door.  Theo remained very still and held his breath.  It was an old game he’d played with himself as a child, when he feared something unpleasant: if he could make himself still and silent, they’d forget he existed.  And then he was rolling out of bed and opening the door and cursing himself on the inside for being controlled.

The Conservator stood in the hallway.  “Good morning,” he said with a smile.  “I have business in the city today, and as it so happens, you do too.”

Theo raised an eyebrow.  “I must have forgotten to note ‘prance around like the Conservator’s pet’ to my agenda for today.”

The Conservator smiled.  “You  _ are _ a spitfire.  I think I see some of what Pavus likes about you.”  He pushed past Theo and into the bedroom, headed toward the wardrobe.

“This is the part where I humbly ask you to leave Dorian out of this,” Theo said, but his voice was devoid of the dry sarcasm he’d adopted when normally speaking with the Conservator.  “You have me.  Just do whatever you need to do with me and let Dorian be.”  He stared at the floor and let out a shuddering breath.

“I’m going to assume those years of having the world falling at your feet, of having empresses and Divines fawning all over you, went to your head,” the Conservator said.  He pulled out a pair of dark trousers and a loose blue shirt and black leather jerkin.  “You have a part to play here, but you’re a means to an end.  No offense, because you are a decent person, and even a bit entertaining.  Dress.”  He turned around and Theo decided to do so before the Conservator made him do it, and watched.  He didn’t think he could take that level of humiliation.  Theo struggled a bit with the fastenings of the trousers and tugged the laces of the shirt so it didn’t fall off his shoulders.  “I appreciate how you’re going to help me, but in the end, it’s not you I really want, or even need.”

Theo wasn’t sure if he should be offended, so he opted for a defiant silence while a slave helped him get on socks and a pair of soft black boots, and a second slave combed his hair back and tied it into a low ponytail.  When he saw himself in a looking glass his eyes widened a bit.  He hadn’t seen himself looking quite this human… well, since before he left Ostwick several months back.

The Conservator was waiting for him in the basement, and he opened a metal door that led into the corridors from several nights before.  They walked in silence for at least a quarter of an hour, maybe longer.  The longer Theo walked the more dazed he became, like fog moving into a bustling city from the ocean.  Everyone was still there, still going about their business, but it was impossible to see more than vague shapes that appeared and disappeared quickly.

They came out in Celares’s workshop.  “Good morning, love,” he said, pausing to give his wife a quick peck on the forehead before heading up the stairs, leaving Theo alone with the pale woman.

She didn’t waste any time, instead heading for another doorway that led to yet another tunnel.  She waved and Theo followed as if she held him by a chain.  They walked the dark paths of the catacombs beneath the city of Minrathous.   _ Dorian is up there, _ he thought, but didn’t know why Dorian was important, or why he was remembering that someone named Dorian was walking overhead.  All that mattered was finding the lyrium.

With that thought he took over the lead, walking slow enough that Celares could keep up with him.  Even though he was out front there was still the feeling of being led forward.  He knew the twists and turns now, and finally came out into an open chamber of the catacombs that should have been familiar but was not.  That didn’t matter; nor did the two men protesting wordlessly, trying to keep him back, and falling before him. All that mattered were the two glowing crates of lyrium in the corner.


	41. The Party of the Year

#  Chapter 41: The Party of the Year

Dorian raised his hand when Mae nudged him.  Lucrezia had her hand up, as did the rest of the Lucerni party members, about a quarter of the rest of the Magisterium, and the entirety of the Publicanium.  “The vote is overruled,” Tanicus Thrassea announced, and headed back to his seat.  He’d taken over as the new head of the military finance committee.  No one was quite certain what had come of Augustus Virnius, though there were no rumors of his death.  Rumors of just about everything else, but for all anyone knew Radonis hadn’t killed him or stripped him of his titles.

“What did I just vote against?” he asked her in a weary voice when the Senate was adjourned.

“Sending more troops to Seheron,” Maevaris said.  “He seems relieved it didn’t pass, probably was just something he had to do to finish out Virnius’s work.”  She paused and looked over Dorian critically.  “Let’s get some lunch,” she suggested, and when he started to protest she stood firm.  “You need to eat.  You need to take care of yourself.”

“I can’t when…” He sighed.  “You’re right.”

Dorian followed Mae to a smaller bistro a few blocks away from the main plaza.  They got a table closer to the back, and Mae ordered wine and the day’s special for the both of them.  “Do you even know what it is?” Dorian asked her.

“No.  But this place is quite good, so I’m not concerned about the food.  I  _ am _ concerned for you.”

He ran a hand through his hair and it stuck up.  Maybe Maevaris was right to be worried.  “I’m helpless.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m Dorian  _ fucking _ Pavus. I don’t  _ do _ helpless. It’s maddening having no idea what happened, or where he is,” he said more softly.  “I don’t think he’s dead at least.”

Maevaris furrowed her brow.  “Necromancer business?”

“That is part of it.  And…” He hadn’t told Mae about Maranda’s idea yet.  They were both playing with fire trying it, and Dorian kept telling himself that he was merely ‘following the currents of desire’.  They hadn’t actually communicated with a demon since that night in the Fade.  Finally he decided there was no sense leaving Maevaris out.  She didn’t have to join them; but it would help for her to at least know what he and Maranda were dabbling in.

Mae stared at him for a long while, even when their meals were set down before them.  Finally she laid her napkin on her lap.  “It’s dangerous,” she said at last.  “You know what else starts with D, besides ‘desire’ and ‘demon’?  Despair.  Dreams.  Delusions.  They influence each other.  You’re powerful, Dorian--”

“Which also starts with D,” he pointed out.

“Clever coincidence.”  She waved her hand.  “You’re powerful, but you’re human.  You’re also confused and hurting, and therefore easy to take advantage of.”

Dorian tried to nibble on his lunch.  It was quite good, all fresh seafood on a toasted flatbread with local herbs and a drizzle of rich oil.  But he just wasn’t hungry and left it, along with a half-empty glass of wine on the table.  

They met up with Varric and Maranda walking toward them as they headed to Dorian’s place.  “We were just there, but when you weren’t home we figured we’d take a walk,” Varric announced.  “Nice day out, and all.”

“What did you find?” Dorian asked, his patience for games and appearances wearing thin.

Mae looked around, then casually waved her hand and created a bubble around them.  “Hurry up before this is noticed.”

Varric nodded.  “Yeah… we got a problem.  The lyrium’s gone.”

Mae dropped the shield and Dorian bit back a loud curse that was sure to draw even  _ more _ attention.  The four looked at one another as they realized the seriousness of this.  “That was our leverage,” Maranda said quietly.  Her green eyes welled up and her lip trembled.

_ “Fasta vass,” _ Mae muttered.  

“What now?” Varric asked.

Maevaris glared at Varric.  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Now, I go lie down until this headache’s gone.  This changes everything.”  She turned and headed back to her place without another word.

“Huh.  I didn’t mean anything by it,” Varric said softly.

“No, but she’s been the strategist keeping our pieces in order when it would be too easy for any one of us to get distracted,” Dorian said.  “She needs a break.”  A memory floated through his mind, lazy and unbidden: Theo under the sun, in a garden cutting flowers for Josephine.  He swallowed against the lump that lodged in his throat.  “Maybe some flowers as well.  You’re all welcome to come to my place,” he offered.

But Varric declined and Maranda went to seek out Cardenio.  Dorian let them go.  With Magnus dead, and Theo missing (and maybe also dead) the need to for safety in numbers felt unimportant.  He took two steps toward his apartment; but the curtains were still burned and Gavia was fretting about replacing them.  He’d directed her to correspond with his mother and her staff about it.  He couldn’t think about curtains at a time like this.  And Theo’s metal arm, stiff and crusted with dried blood was up there.

He couldn’t go to a cafe, because he’d just left one and wasn’t hungry.

Dorian went to the only other place where he ever truly felt understood.

The cool library smelled of dust, old paper, and older magic; some of his tension immediately seeped away.  It was comforting to be surrounded by knowledge, as if knowing all of that information was there, at his fingertips, could reassure him that not all things were unknowable.

He found a nook that he’d gone to frequently during his time as an Enchanter here, particularly when he needed to get away from Alexius and the other Venatori.  The library didn’t bargain, judge, or seduce.  It just  _ was _ .  It was part of what had made him feel so wistful about the ancient elven library beyond the eluvians.  Even now, even after all he’d seen and been through in that place he still mourned for the lost knowledge.

“Good read?”

Dorian tried not to sigh too loudly when Tanicus interrupted his not-quite-reading.  “A biography of Lovias,” he said.  “It’s rather dull.  Honestly, I wasn’t really reading it.”

“You _ have  _ seemed preoccupied of late,” Tanicus observed.  “I know Magnus had it out for you, but it’s noble to be so broken up about his passing,” he teased.

“Yes, my sense of compassion and empathy sets me apart from most in the Magisterium,” Dorian said drily, but it was easier than telling the truth.

“Would it cheer you if I invited you to a party this weekend?” Tanicus looked like a young schoolboy, with his wide grin and hopeful eyes.  “It’s my father’s name day, and it promises to be a grand event.  Even better than the other parties you’ve been invited to,” he added.  Dorian hesitated.  “I would even love to invite Magister Tilani and her guest, Ellandra.”

“Maevaris will be delighted that she’s finally interesting enough to attend one of your galas.” Dorian set down the dull tome he’d been pretending to read.  “Don’t look like that.  You’re legendary for collecting only the most interesting people.”

Tanicus tilted his head to the side.  “Is that so?  Interesting, what people have to say.  Invitations go out tomorrow, say you’ll come?” he asked, and Dorian finally gave in and nodded.  He’d have to tell Mae and Maranda later on, but for now, being alone with a book, even a dull one, was soothing.

* * *

“This is the most exciting night of my life,” Maevaris said in a high-pitched voice, clapping her hands giddily.  “To think I’ve been deemed exciting enough to attend Tacitus Thrassea’s name day party?”  She fastened her dangly earrings and dawdled over her collection of jeweled rings.  While most of the ones she selected matched her shimmery ocean-blue ensemble, Dorian knew they also enhanced and channeled her innate magical ability.  These days, even a party could end in a fight; it was best to be prepared.

“You look lovely,” Dorian told her, leaning against the doorframe as she touched up her makeup and secured a sparkling comb in her hair.  He knew the gem set in it could focus a nasty blizzard spell, and couldn’t help but grin.  

“As do you,” she told him, and he did a lazy twirl to show off the flow of his deep green silk robes over the fitted black mage armor beneath.  Silverite accents and buckles caught the light, and he’d worn the Pavus birthright amulet.  A gold and emerald ring graced his right hand, and the silver woven belt at his waist had been enchanted to add an extra measure of defense to his armor.  “Then again you always look good.”

“I do, don’t I,” Dorian said, grinning and preening.  “Did you hire the dracolisks again?”  She turned to stare at him.  “Yes, silly question.”

Maranda joined them in the sitting room.  She’d opted for a deep stormy grey gown with a lighter, more silvery coat over it.  She too wore a jeweled comb holding her dark curls away from her face, this one with a cloudy, silvery pearlescent stone.  Most of her jewels matched this, and Dorian wondered if Maevaris had taken her shopping at the premier enchanter’s boutique the other day.  “I must say, I wasn’t expecting a party,” she said.  She nervously adjusted the pendant around her neck.  “Though it could be fun.”

“While the Thrasseas pride themselves on collecting interesting followers, the gatherings I attended there were insufferably dull,” Dorian told her.  “I’m sorry to burst your bubble.”

She laughed. “No you’re not.  You love ruining my fun with your ennui.”  But his sister-in-law smiled as she teased him.

They climbed into the carriage and the dracolisks took off at a leisurely walk through the streets of Minrathous.  “Cardenio has Romulus and Dario with him, scouting the perimeter for us, and finding any entrance they can,” Maranda said.  “I’ll try to get myself good and lost, innocent visitor that I am,” she said with wide, earnest eyes.

They disembarked at the Thrassea estate.  Dorian stared up at the stucco-walled manor and took a deep breath of honeysuckle and salty scented air to calm the nerves fluttering in his stomach like bats.  They all headed into the foyer and waited to be announced by the steward, who was dressed in a sleek deep blue robe.  As soon as his name was called Dorian slid into the crowds, grabbed a glass of wine off of a passing slave’s tray, and found a quiet corner.

The other guests flitted about the great room in their jewel-toned robes, magelights hovering overhead like fireflies and making gems and jewels sparkle like stars.  Some of the guests were familiar from other Thrassea events he’d attended.  Maevaris caught his eye from across the room and casually touched her hand to her chest.  Dorian nodded and mimicked the gesture.  They each wore a sending crystal, to be used in an emergency.  It was the elder Thrassea’s name day, but this was the Tevinter Imperium: even name day parties could turn deadly at any moment.

Music played from the corner of the room, and the food was delicious, what little of it Dorian felt he could stomach.  This must have been how Theo felt at the Ball in Halamshiral when he was Inquisitor.  

Maranda was nowhere in sight, and Maevaris was speaking with a couple Magisters about lyrium trade and deals with Orzammar.  “Now that the earthquakes have stopped down south, perhaps the trade will improve once more,” Sylvester was saying, and Dorian rolled his eyes as he passed her.  Mae stifled a grin and just kept nodding while old Sylvester rambled.

He managed to extricate himself from the throngs of people and make his way down the main hallway.  A large, formal dining room had been cordoned off with a velvet rope.  The library was empty though, people preferring the great room’s light and noise and celebration over the somber weight of the library’s silence.

The Thrasseas had several books Dorian also owned copies of, and he made a mental note of some other titles that were interesting, but he did not yet have in his collection.  Perhaps Tanicus would be willing to give him the name of the bookseller he’d used.  He sat down with one book:  _ A Theory of Spatial Manipulation _ , which, while incredibly theoretical, was interesting, and reminded him of the work he’d been doing with Alexius.

The crystal buzzed against his skin and Dorian sat up quickly, nearly dropping the book.  He left it on the low table next to his chair; the slaves would put it back, he figured.  He didn’t say anything into the crystal, merely smoothed the flowing green silk back into place and stood straight.  He didn’t dare slip into the Fade with all the mages present in the estate, but he was intimate enough with spirits that he could feel them at the edges of his mind.  

Dorian reentered the great room.  The firefly magelights were now changing color and the main lights were dimmed.  He passed by Tacitus Thrassea, who pulled away from the conversation he’d been having.  “Magister Pavus, good of you to come celebrate an old man,” he said.

Dorian bowed slightly.  “I appreciated the invitation.  I’ve found your work to be most interesting, and a pleasant break from politics.”

“Have you now?” Tacitus’s smile was slow, serpentine, and a chill ran down Dorian’s back.  Then he laughed.  “But you didn’t come here for spirited academic discourse.  You came to help me celebrate.”

“Father, are you accosting your guests again?” Tanicus asked, approaching from behind Dorian.  “One of these days the Circle will have to sponsor a discussion group where we can just idly banter about our academic theories.”

“That… actually sounds enjoyable,” Dorian admitted.  “I was just in your library.  You have an impressive collection.”

Tanicus’s smile spread.  “I do have a private library that isn’t open to party guests, normally.  Perhaps you’d care to see it?”

“Who’s dull and boring now, you hypocrite?” Tacitus asked, but he was grinning as he walked away.

Dorian found it difficult to resist the pull of a private academic collection.  His spirits were agitated and he felt the pull of desire.  Not necessarily a demon, but definitely the sensation of strongly wanting something.  The crystal buzzed again.  “It’s a kind offer; maybe a bit later?  I need to see Magister Tilani… apparently Ellandra wandered off,” he said apologetically, and Tanicus just nodded and headed back into his sea of guests.

But ‘Ellandra” was actually with Maevaris, in a shadowy alcove on the far side of the room.  “Did you feel it, Dorian?” Maranda asked quietly.  Her pale skin was sallow, her lip trembling.  “It’s strong here.”

Mae shook her head.  “Let’s play a game: words that begin with D, and are dangerous-- that one doesn’t count.”

But it wasn’t just the sensation of his desires being amplified, as if the object of those desires was tantalizingly close.  There was a darkness underneath the celebration, something looming large and mysterious.

Maevaris nudged Dorian.  “You mentioned Tanicus had a wife; is that her?” she asked.

Dorian looked in the direction Mae was pointing.  Tanicus was talking and laughing with Tullus and Vassenia, the red lyrium researchers he’d met at one of the first parties he’d attended.  Tanicus had his arm around the shoulders of a slight, pale ghost of a woman in simple dark blue and silver robes.

“Dorian,” Mae said suddenly.  “Dorian, we need to…”

But he’d already seen.


	42. Forbearance

# Chapter 42: Forbearance

“Would you like that library tour now, Dorian?” Tanicus asked.  

He’d woven through the crowd as if they were hardly there.  His voice was soft and pleasant enough, but with an edge of anticipation that compounded Dorian’s nerves.  His spirits flitted around the edges of his consciousness and somewhere he thought he heard a desire demon’s giggle.  Dorian glanced over Tanicus’s shoulder, but the pale woman and the man who’d been with her were gone.  He didn’t know if he should trust his own eyes, or if it was the presence of so much magic here, and the possibility of demons or blood magic.

“That sounds lovely,” Maevaris, the most level-headed of them all, said in an even voice.  “I must thank you, Tanicus.  I am enjoying this evening quite a bit.  Ellandra,” she said, turning to Maranda, who was having as hard a time remaining composed as Dorian.  “The Thrassea private library will be a thing to behold.  No one back in the south will believe you when you tell them about it.  Right, Tanicus?” She fixed him with a cold stare.

Tanicus stared at Mae for a moment, and then shrugged.  “Yes, please do come along.”  They followed him out of the room, down the main hall, and into another part of the house that Dorian hadn’t seen the first few times he’d come here.  He had to admit the Thrassea family had good decorating taste, and could understand his mother’s dislike for them.  Tanicus took a turn and led them into a long hallway with an arched ceiling and alcoves in the wall between the windows.  Veilfire lamps lit the artifacts there with a haunting glow.

Dorian walked the length of the hallway, examining what Tanicus had curated for his private collection: quite a few stone tablets with relief carvings; an old and very powerful mage staff; a book under a glass case titled _Pensa Sapientiae_.  “This is it,” Tanicus said in a reverent voice.  He stood next to Dorian and stared down at the book with hungry dark eyes.  “This is my private library.”

“One book.”  Dorian looked down at it.  It was… a book.  It was in pristine condition.  “Have you ever read it?”

Tanicus shook his head.  “This book isn’t for the eyes of men.”

Dorian sifted through the scraps of Arcanum he knew, and the bits and pieces of Old Tevene he’d had to rely on to help the Inquisition with some of the old texts.  He’d never seen a copy of _Pensa Sapientiae_ , but what was more concerning was he’d never even _heard_ of the tome.  

“Oh!  Dorian, Maevaris, please meet my wife, Celarea Coventinas.”  

Dorian didn’t even look at her.  He fixed his eyes on the man accompanying her.  He was tall with a slim build.  His chestnut hair had been pulled back into a low ponytail, revealing the pronounced angles of his clean-shaven face.  A pale scar sliced down the left side of his face, from temple to jaw.  His green eyes stared at Dorian, through Dorian, with no recognition.

“What have you done to him?” Dorian asked, trying unsuccessfully to quell the mana surging up within him.  

“When you put it that way you make it sound as if he’s been mistreated,” Tanicus scolded.  “I’m sure he would agree that he’s treated very well under our care.”  Theo blinked.  Dorian wanted to throw himself at his _Amatus_ , but he realized now that the trap had been laid; he had to step carefully to avoid setting it off.  “Come, let’s sit down, shall we?  Let’s discuss our quandary.”

“Quandary?” Maranda asked.  “This is _my brother,_ ” she snapped in a strangled voice.

“I knew he reminded me of someone.  Now that you mention it the resemblance is uncanny,” Tanicus said, and his wife merely nodded.  She headed for the observatory at the end of the hall.  Theo followed her, led by an invisible chain and Dorian almost wished, for one horrible moment, that he was dead instead.

Then he caught Maevaris’s eye.  She stood tall and stoic, the strategist he never was.  He took a deep breath.  Maevaris had taken down Aurelian Titus; she’d gone into the heart of Qunari territory and clawed her way back and still stood tall, ready to challenge Tanicus the same way.  They all headed into the observatory.  The low light allowed for a view of the stars overhead.  They all took seats, and Tanicus brought out some wine and a bottle of a blue glowing liquid.  He turned it over and let a couple of drops fall into each glass before pouring the wine and handing it out.

“Is this part of your game?” Dorian asked, setting his wine glass down.  “Feed your guests tainted food and drink and see how this lyrium affects them?”

“You’re quite intelligent, Dorian,” Tanicus said.  “No offense, Magister Tilani, and… your name isn’t really Ellandra, is it.  Anyway.  I’d like to converse with Dorian, and now that you have seen my private library, you’re free to go.”

Maevaris raised a sculpted eyebrow.  “You think I’m just going to leave?  Please.  I’ve waited for an invitation to one of your parties for _years_.”  Her dry sarcasm made Tanicus smile.  She set her wine glass down.  Maranda did the same.

“Dorian likes to tease me,” he began.  “About how I like to _collect_ interesting people.  But did you ever notice that the more interesting people, at least in Minrathous, tend to be the more powerful ones as well?”  He sipped his wine.  “You’re interesting, Dorian, because you’re powerful and don’t realize just how powerful you truly are, and if told, you don’t even care.  You’re a rarity in Tevinter.”  He leaned forward.  “Here’s the thing.  We need powerful mages.  We need you.”

Dorian furrowed his brow as Tanicus’s words settled in.  Then he blinked a few times, and then he laughed.  “You _need_ me?  To help bring some mad scheme to fruition?”

“It’s not mad, and yes.  Why do you think the Venatori kept trying to woo you to their cause?”  Tanicus stared at him curiously.  “You… really don’t understand yourself.”

“I understand myself perfectly well, Tanicus.  I’m the only one who’s been me, after all.”  The storm built up within Dorian again, mana surging through his arms and into his hands.  “And what of Trevelyan?” he asked, and Maranda inhaled sharply next to him.

“How badly do you want to find out?” Tanicus asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re new to the game of politics, Dorian, but when you want something you have to be willing to give something in return, if not up front.”

“An exchange, then?  Me for him?”

“Dorian, no,” Mae hissed.

“You stay here with your love.  Have some time together.  Discuss what you’re willing to do.  These decisions should be made together, after all.”

Dorian stared at Theo, his Theo, with the arm gone below the elbow, dressed in fitted Tevinter style clothing in black and deep midnight blue. His green eyes were glassy, pupils wide and unresponsive.  Dorian’s gaze traced the curve of Theo’s lips and then he remembered the box he’d received.  “ _Are_ we going to be able to discuss this?  If you know what I mean.”

Tanicus chuckled.  “That was a bit of fun to get you riled up.  You wouldn’t make a move if you weren’t desperate enough.”

Dorian ran his thumb along the underside of his wedding band and his breath caught in his throat when he saw Theo still wore his.  He got to his feet and approached.  Theo didn’t look up at all, just kept staring.  Dorian dropped to his knee and reached up a shaky hand.  He brushed a tendril of hair out of Theo’s face, letting his fingers ghost over his pale, cool cheek.  He took Theo’s hand, which was stiff in his, and pressed his lips to the palm then curled Theo’s fingers into his hand.  “ _Non est valete, Amatus,”_ he whispered.

He stood up.  He turned his back and walked away.

Dorian did not wait for the carriage.  He walked out of the Thrassea manor and down the drive.  He blasted the gates open with a wild force spell and told the shocked footmen to bill the Pavus estate.  He stormed down the road, fingertips crackling and a retinue of wispy violet spirits following him.  His chest constricted as he neared the long bridge leading back into Minrathous proper.  He stopped about a third of the way across and held his hands out over the stone wall and channeled all of his roiling energy into the waters of the channel.

White hot flames gushed from his hands and the water directly beneath him boiled and steamed.  Dorian flung his hands in the air and a static cage crackled overhead, but with no targets, the lightning dissipated into the sky.  All the while spirits of death and grief swirled around him.

He then let out his breath and nearly collapsed on the bridge.  “I hope he was watching that display of _power_ ,” Dorian snarled when Maevaris and Maranda approached cautiously.  “ _Fasta vass._  What do I do?”  He looked back across the bridge to the cheerfully lit Thrassea manor.

Maevaris squeezed his shoulder.  “You did the right thing, to start,” she murmured.  “Come on.  Let’s get you home, and we’ll go from there.”

Maranda’s lightning crackled.  “But Theo--”

“Isn’t in immediate danger,” Dorian said with a heavy sigh.  “Tanicus wants me desperate, but he won’t do anything drastic yet.”  He straightened up.  “I’m going home.”

In some strange way Dorian was relieved that he knew Theo was at least alive, and was at least uninjured from what he could see.  And if Tanicus wanted Dorian, and Dorian wanted Theo, he would do whatever he could to lure Dorian in.  He didn’t like the thought of using his own husband as a pawn, but he had no other choice yet--especially if they didn’t have the lyrium anymore.

The walk back to Dorian’s was long and quiet and tense.  Only when he’d closed his door and silenced his home with wards and magical traps, did he collapse and let Maranda lay into him with an angry tirade.  He didn’t want to fight her and instead cast a barrier spell over himself, which made her angrier.  At last she flopped on the sofa with Dorian, and they sat in silence.

“Why didn’t you fight for him?” Maranda finally asked in a scratchy voice.  Her eyes were puffy, her makeup smudged and running down her face.

Dorian leaned his head back.  “My power manifested when I was very young; four or five, I believe.  I was one of the youngest full-fledged enchanters ever in Tevinter.  I bounced from Circle to Circle, mentor to mentor, until I finally landed in Minrathous.  I became very used to getting what I wanted, when I wanted it, and was quite impatient most of the time.”  He turned to see Maranda.  “But for all my abilities and talents, my wealth, my bloodline… some things just took time.  The hardest lessons I learned were not magical theory or sciences, but forbearance.”

“I’ve spent three quarters of my life forbearing, so please excuse me if I’m having a difficult time with this,” Maranda told him.  But she sounded more defeated than angry.  

Dorian fiddled with the clasps at his neckline and began undoing them.  “So much like your brother,” he said.  “This was a lesson he needed to learn as well as the Inquisitor.  When you have the power to achieve so much, waiting is difficult.  Particularly in situations where power alone isn’t enough.”

“But he _said_ he wants your power.”

“To do what?” Dorian asked.  He tried to swallow the growing lump choking him.

Maranda stared at him.  “You’d leave him to those… those… _maleficar?”_

Dorian had entertained the possibility that blood magic was involved, but hearing Maranda say it gave words to his worst fears.  “I suspect the use of blood magic is part of the Thrasseas’ plan.  And…”  He found it hard to find the strength to say the words.  “If it came to that, yes.  Your brother has stopped countless threats.  It’s become his hallmark, really.”  Dorian twisted his wedding ring on his finger.  “We’ve had countless arguments about it, but when it comes down to it, Theo has only ever wanted to do the right thing, and I can’t imagine what the Thrasseas have planned is right.”

“So you’re going to leave him there,” Maranda said bitterly.  “I thought you were different.  Not the self-serving Magister they warned me about in the Circles.  And here you’ll leave your husband to save your hide.”

“No,” he said, rising.  Her words stung.  He tried to understand that she was upset, and perhaps felt even a bit guilty; Maker knew he certainly did.  “This is no simple rescue mission.”   _Like last time,_ he thought, recalling the first awful visit to Halamshiral.  It wasn’t really _simple,_ but compared to this…  “I need a strategy.  I need time to think this through carefully, and Theodane would agree.  He’s stronger than you know, Maranda.  He can survive.”

She looked doubtful but finally rubbed her eyes, smearing her makeup further.  “Ironically you’ve known him longer than I have, so… I trust you.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  He didn’t know where to begin, which in turn made him impatient and frustrated.  But he would forbear.  It was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done.


	43. Voice of the Old Gods

#  Chapter 43: Voice of the Old Gods

The scent of citrus oil and pungent vinegar wafted through the halls as the slaves cleaned the manor.  Theo came out in the great room and wrinkled his nose at the puddles of sticky spilled wine and who knew what else.   _ Some party _ , he thought.  He sidestepped the cleaners, who barely looked at him.  He headed back toward the observatory; something inside compelled him to go there, and while he would have loved to defy that feeling, he honestly had nothing better to do.

Bright sunlight streamed through the windows onto the white walls and white marble floors.  If the house wasn’t occupied by a couple of blood mages, it might actually be pretty.  

The observatory was empty, but the glass overhead let in more morning light, making the room rather pleasant.  He squinted up; the sky was bright blue with some high, wispy clouds streaking across it.  Maybe it would be a little breezy, and bring the scent of the ocean to this place.  

The cleaning staff hadn’t gotten to this room yet, and there were some unfinished glasses of wine.  Theo picked one up and had hardly even taken a taste of it when something about the wine made him recoil.  Just the scent made him feel a bit dizzy and he panicked for a moment, afraid it was blood.  At this point he would put nothing past Celares and her Conservator.

He also found a deck of cards, and while Wicked Grace was out of the question (even if he wasn’t alone he only had one hand), he laid out a solitaire spread.  The card flipping and placement required just enough focus that he could let his mind wander off of his current troubles, but not so much that he was completely mindless.  Eventually his thoughts wandered back around to what he had to do to get through this.

Theo laid down the card in his hand and looked, really  _ looked _ at the careful cuts in his arm.  When the Venatori had cut him, the goal was just to make him bleed.  There was precision to this.  He’d also slipped into that fuzzy, almost sleepwalking like state a few times and returned to his senses without any new cuts.  So they didn’t bleed him when they needed to, but they were still able to control him.

Theo sighed and left the room, not bothering to pick up the cards.  He stood in the hall and looked around.  The house was big; but eventually he would run out of places to explore.  Even now when he approached certain rooms his mind went blank and he forgot why he was standing in front of the door.  Frustrating as that was, at least he never forgot Dorian.  Much as he loved Dorian and knew Dorian loved him, he truly hoped Dorian would be smart enough to see a trap, and smarter still to avoid it.

The next day was much the same, and Theo realized that he was  _ bored _ .  He was a prisoner of the Conservator and of the Augur, but it was likely no one he cared about knew where to find him, or even where to start looking.  He had the freedom to wander to an extent; but there were only so many books he could read, and so many times he could go to try a doorknob, only to realize, minutes later, that he was still standing in the hall with no idea why he was there.

There was one thing he had yet to try, and today was as good a day as any.

Theo started down toward the basement, going slowly, assessing his mental clarity with each step he took.  He rested his thumb on the underside of his wedding ring.   _ If I can feel it, I know I’m not dreaming, _ he decided.  

He made it down the stairs with memories of the slow trek down, and exhaled.  Good.

Theo didn’t look at the few small rooms he knew were there, holding cells until Celares could determine what to do with her prisoners.  He approached the metal door at the far end of the basement and rested his thumb on his ring.  He still felt it.  He reached out for the handle, and still had possession of his faculties.  The door opened onto a long, dark tunnel.

“Hello?” His soft voice echoed and died in the passage.  The complete blackness reminded him of the Deep Roads: the loneliness, the blindness, the knowledge that the entirety of Thedas pressed down on him from above.  But he’d navigated the Deep Roads; he could manage this tunnel. Theo rested his hand on the dank stone wall and walked forward.

Much like the Deep Roads there was no telling how much time passed, but he would pause to listen (what felt like) every few minutes and to ground himself with his ring.  Eventually the darkness was not so complete, and Theo’s eyes adjusted to a wan, greyish light.  He kept moving forward, even though fear made him tremble.  He’d faced fear demons, dragons, and Corypheus.  He’d faced his own death countless times, and was becoming quite blase about it.  

What lay at the end of this tunnel was a mystery, and that was what scared him.  Would he find Celares there, or would he be alone?  If she wasn’t there, what would he do, and could he do it, or would the blood magic binding spell kick in, leaving him a husk of himself somewhere beneath Minrathous?

Theo took the last few steps and emerged in the stone chamber.  His heart pounded and he tried to avoid looking at the stone slab in the center. He spotted Celares at her desk.  He cleared his throat, since he still had control of himself.  She looked up.  “Good morning,” he began, and she nodded pleasantly.  “I was bored,” he explained, “and tired of forgetting what I was doing every time I walked down a hall.” She smiled, amused. Theo wandered around her workspace.  “So I was wondering what this is,” he finally asked, holding out his arm.  No harm asking.

Celares got up.  Today her simple robes were blue-violet, and whispered behind her as she crossed the floor to a bookshelf.  She flipped a few pages and showed it to him.  “A constellation.” He raised an eyebrow.  “You carved a freaking constellation on my arm?”  He sighed and sat down at another desk to read more of the book; he had nothing better to do.

He was still reading when he heard more steps coming from the passageway.  He didn’t look up, and instead feigned interest in the book.  Not that it was boring; just half of it was in Tevene.

“Sorry I’m late, love.  The Archon had some unexpected words,” the Conservator said with a grimace.

Theo looked up.  “You’re a Magister too?”  Then he went back to his book.  “Shocking.  A Magister bent on taking over the world.”

“A Southerner who doesn’t understand that not all Magisters are bent on taking over the world.  Similarly shocking.”  He gave a slight bow. “Magister Tanicus Thrassea.”

He’d heard the name before.  He sifted through his mind, trying to figure out what information was real, and where he’d gotten it from.  His stomach twisted.  “Dorian talked about spending time with you.  Were you planning this all along?”

“Dorian’s academic curiosity separates him from most other Magisters and Altuses, and is refreshing.  I always knew that he would make the perfect addition to our group, but I realized he needed motivation.  And, lucky accident that it was, you wound up here.”  Tanicus smiled and pulled the silver-wrapped vial of blood from a pocket and Theo’s heart skipped a beat.

“What... now…” he began, trying to touch his ring, trying to stay in his seat, but everything around him was fuzzy and grey and dreamy, and a soft voice in his mind told him,  _ don’t worry, just follow. _  When it asked so nicely, how could he defy it?

* * *

It was a good knife: the blade had a half-twist to it, and did even more damage coming out of a body than going in.  It was lightweight and he could move efficiently through the humid night.  He moved without thinking, and when he returned with proof of what he’d done, Tanicus, the Conservator, was pleased.

* * *

The sun was hot, but it didn’t matter.  The sun was bright but he hardly noticed it.  He just walked next to the Conservator, openly carrying a small arsenal of blades.  People pointed at his missing left arm and some laughed but it was of no consequence.

* * *

At night he stared at the ceiling and wondered what he’d been doing.  He listened to the silence.  He couldn’t tell waking from dreaming anymore.  A nightingale sang out in the garden.  He rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head and tried to drown out his inner voice.

* * *

Tanicus and Celares were pleased.  That couldn’t be good.   _ What did I do?  What have I done? _  His hand shook and he rubbed his thumb over his ring furiously.  They hadn’t thought to take it from him; either they didn’t know what it symbolized, or they did and didn’t care.   _ Whatever I’ve done, Dorian, I’m so, so sorry… _

* * *

He drew in a hissing breath as a Thrassea slave stitched the deep, slicing wound in his side.  Each prick of the needle was a fresh flash of pain as the young woman worked to close the rent flesh.  Finally she knotted the thread and washed the wound with an antiseptic cleanser that felt like fire licking his skin.  

He’d felt fire before.  When the slave left he stared at himself in the mirror.  He didn’t have a left arm below the elbow and he couldn’t quite recall why; something to do with bright green light and one of the Magisters of old.  Something to do with wolves.  He was here because he’d eased the Titan of the dwarves.  He was here because the Augur had heard the song and the mysteries would be revealed.

He’d once been called the Herald of Andraste.  Now he served the Augur of Mystery.  The Old Gods and the New called to him.  He dreamed of dragons and wolves, of bright blue lyrium and a pale wispy woman who gazed at him with an almost maternal fondness.  Or maybe he was awake.  

_ Did it matter anymore? _

* * *

And then he really did wake up, to moonlight angling through the windows and a dull ache in his head, but he could feel his ring on his finger and the sting in his side where he’d had stitches put in.   _ Another scar to add to the collection, _ he mused.

Theo did not want to think about what time had passed and what he’d done for the duration of that time.  The images in his mind came and went, fragmented and distorted, like being viewed in a broken eluvian.

He sat up quickly and his side protested.  Theo gritted his teeth and breathed through the pain.  The lines on his arm formed the constellation Eluvia, the Lady of Mystery.  The eluvians led to mysterious places.  Did Celares have an eluvian in her workshop?  Would she use an eluvian to find her Old God?

“Fuck,” he whispered.  “Oh Maker, fuck, fuck  _ fuck no.” _  He jumped out of bed and rummaged around on the small writing desk in the moonlight and scribbled down the thought before he lost himself again.  Dorian couldn’t know that Theo was Tanicus’s prisoner.  Dorian had to stay away. They wouldn’t just use Dorian’s power, but what he’d seen and what he was trying to teach himself to do.

“I’m not building an eluvian, not now.  Maybe not ever,” he’d told Theo.  But the Thrasseas would have different ideas.

 


	44. Guys' Night Out

#  Chapter 44: Guys’ Night Out

“I’ve gone over it from every possible angle, Mae.” Dorian stared into his teacup.  “I have  _ nothing  _ else he could possibly want in exchange.”

Maevaris had pulled the pins out of her hair, and her loose curls framed her face.  She had uncharacteristic dark circles under her blue eyes.  She reached for the delicate teapot, then sighed and went over to the bar instead.  She pulled out a decanter of brandy, brought it back to the table, and poured it right into her teacup.  She held it up for Dorian, who drained his tea and held out his cup.

“Do you think the Archon could do anything?” she finally asked.  He arched an eyebrow at her and sipped his brandy.  “Fine, fine. It was just a suggestion.  Like you said, we’re just grasping for whatever we can at this point.”

“Even if I did want to go tattling to Radonis, I don’t think he’d get involved,” Dorian mused.  “It  _ is _ essentially my fault for bringing the former Inquisitor to Tevinter.  What did I think would happen?”  His voice dripped with bitterness.  It was a valid enough question, though, and he felt a bit guilty for wanting to shake Theo by the shoulders and tell him, “I told you so.”  Dorian took another sip.  “I’m sorry Mae.  I should have listened to you more.  I just thought…”

“You thought you were Dorian Pavus and the rules didn’t apply to you,” she said, but she was smiling.  She rested her hand on his.  “Tanicus may have leverage, and he may seem a little… off.  But he’s still just a man.  He’s smart, but you’re Dorian Pavus,” she said.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”  Dorian tried to smile, but he was too tired.  “What if… what if I just gave him what he wants?”

“Dorian…”

“Me, on his doorstep, offering my brilliant mind and magical prowess.  No, please listen.  He gave us a nice little monologue, but never really told us what he needs me around  _ for. _  You keep Theo’s crystal; I have mine.  Very few people know that we have this, and while I’ve seen Savos Enchinus at Tanicus’s before, he’s a consummate businessman.”  Dorian’s mind raced now, mostly because he didn’t want Maevaris to tell him no.  He’d tried forbearing, as long as he could, and now it was time for something else: particularly if Tanicus was taking to strutting about in public, with Theo at his side.  The one time Dorian had seen it, Mae had all but cast a binding spell on Dorian to keep him from doing anything rash.

Mae finally sighed and finished off her brandy.  She did not pour another.  “I don’t like it, Dorian.” She ran a hand through her curls.  “But I see no other options.”

Dorian sipped the last of his brandy as well.  “Thank you, Mae.  I wish it would have come to something different.”

She shrugged and her blue silk dressing gown slid down her shoulder.  She impatiently readjusted it.  “We were outplayed.  I never thought much of Tanicus as a politician, but apparently he was working his own politics right along and we just never saw.”

“Because we didn’t realize we needed to pay attention.  May I use your stationery?”

Mae got out a quill pen, ink, and some parchment.  Dorian drafted a brief missive and Mae handed it off to one of her couriers.  Dorian let out a shaky breath.  “There.  That’s done.  Mind if I use the guest room this evening?”

“You’re always welcome here, Dorian,” Mae told him.  “And when this is over, I think I should like to host a reception for you and Theodane on this end.”

The mention of Theo made Dorian almost tear up, but he stayed composed.  “Why Mae, he’ll be pleased to know you really do like him.”

“He was worried?” Her expression softened.  “Anyone who can not only tolerate you, but inspire you to these heights of selflessness and creativity, I like.  He loves you and would do anything for you.  How could I  _ not _ like that?”

“He’ll be glad to hear that.  And honestly, so am I.”  It made his decision easier to bear.

* * *

_ Delectamenti _ had opened up a week ago, and it was near impossible to get a table, even for Magisters.  But Dorian wasn’t most Magisters, and when he mentioned that his dinner guest would be Tanicus Thrassea, there was a miraculous cancellation for the following evening.  

Not that Dorian cared about the food at this point.  He just needed a neutral venue with lots of people around.  He asked Cardenio to go along with him.  He didn’t know the man very well; but he’d worked with Theo and had trained him.  And most importantly, he was unknown.

“Too many people know Varric and his connections to  Maevaris, and Mae is… Mae,” Dorian explained.  “And now Tanicus knows you’re Theo’s sister.”

Maranda sighed.  “I didn’t mean to let that slip.”

“He probably had it figured out before you said a word,” Dorian reassured her.  “He seems to have more information than whomever he’s talking to at any given time.”

“I don’t like this, Dorian,” she said softly.  “In fact I rather hate it.”

“It’s a mutual feeling,” he said.  “Cardenio will be with me to get the specifics of our arrangement.  I intend to get it in writing.”

“And then?”

“Find any loophole I can,” he said grimly.

Cardenio came out into the main room then, dressed in trousers, boots, and a long leather coat with silver buttons.  His close-cropped hair was growing out some and he’d combed it back from his face.  He had trimmed his scruffy facial hair and lined his eyes.  Maranda stared at him. “What?  It looks lovely on you,  _ cara _ , and is… how do they say in Orlais?  _ En vogue _ for even the men here.”  He smiled and winked at her, and Maranda flushed.

Maevaris saw them off.  “You know, I’m not even jealous that you’re going to  _ Delectamenti _ .  Not if it means having to indenture yourself to the Thrasseas,” she said with a grimace.  

“Just think of us having a guys’ night.  Or, a gentlemen’s night out, if you will,” Cardenio said, checking his knives that he’d hidden all over his person.  Dorian marveled that one man could wear so much metal.

“In that case, Maranda and I will have a ladies’ night,” Mae declared.  “There’s an opera going this week; shouldn’t be hard to get tickets.”  Maranda’s eyes widened in excitement at the mention of ‘opera’, and it reminded Dorian, almost painfully, of the time he’d taken Theo to one in Orlais.  It strengthened his resolve to see this through.

Dorian and Cardenio walked to the restaurant, and Cardenio let his coat flutter open to reveal the sharp blades he carried at his side.  He walked alongside Dorian, not behind him.  Dorian strode along with purpose, his boot heels clacking on the pavement, and his staff, which he normally didn’t carry (trusting in his own innate talents) thudded on the stones with each step he took.

A score of well-dressed people lined up outside of  _ Delectamenti _ , and Dorian bypassed all of them.  “Magister Pavus and guest, table for four,” he announced, and then leaned casually on his staff.  He’d purposely chosen to wear the same black and dark green ensemble he’d worn for Tacitus’s birthday gala.  If Tanicus could make a statement, so could Dorian.

A waiter seated them at a table toward the back; Dorian had made his desire for privacy evident when making the reservation.  He sat facing the door, twirling his empty wineglass between his fingers.  “Will he come?” Cardenio murmured.  He eyed the plate of crusty bread set before them and Dorian gave a subtle nod.  Cardenio picked at a piece of bread, eyes flicking around the room.

“He’s too proud and smug not to,” Dorian muttered back.  

Sure enough a few minutes later Tanicus threaded his way through the crowd, leading Theo behind him.  Dorian felt a stabbing pang in his chest, but kept his face expressionless.  “Magister Thrassea.  Good of you to come,” he said in greeting.  He remained seated and only then held out his wine glass for a waiter to fill.

“Ignore an invitation to dinner at the newest culinary sensation in Minrathous, from Dorian Pavus?  Not possible.”  Tanicus took a seat and gestured for Theo to take the chair next to him.  “Though I take it this isn’t a social call, much fun as that would be?”

Dorian leaned back in his chair.  His gaze swept over Theo sitting stiffly, awkwardly in his chair.  He looked well enough: healthy, no visible injuries or bruises.  His eyes, however, were empty and glazed over.  Dorian forced his gaze away from his husband, locked somewhere in his own mind, and looked instead at Tanicus.  “Hungry?” he asked, and called a waiter over.  “I think I’ll have the lamb.  Rare,” he added, with a glare at Tanicus.

“He’ll have the same,” Tanicus said with a wave of his hand at Theo.  “Mushroom risotto for me, I think.”

“Roast boar,” Cardenio said without looking at the waiter, keeping his eyes instead on Tanicus.

Finally they were alone again, and Tanicus smiled pleasantly.  “So now we have the orders out of the way, and our first symbolic salvos.  Shall we discuss our terms?”

Dorian nodded to Cardenio, who pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill and ink.  “First term: release him from your spell.”

Tanicus shook his head.  “No.  You see, keeping him under my control ensures that you do what I need you to do.  Though, I suppose I can loosen the leash a bit.”  He set a glass vial wrapped with silver wire on the table before him.  He looked over at Theo and waved his hand over the vial.  “A compromise: when in the confines of my domicile, he has his freedom, of a sort.”

Theo blinked and the stiffness left his arm and shoulders.  He looked around warily and his eyes widened in shock when he saw Dorian and Cardenio sitting across from him.  “Good evening,  _ Amatus,” _ Dorian said, striving to keep his voice steady.  “Magister Thrassea and I thought a gentlemen’s evening out would be a pleasant diversion from politics.  I’m glad you could join us.”  He met Theo’s gaze and gave the subtlest shake of his head.  Enough to tell him not to ask questions, to let Theo know that he knew what he was doing.

“Thanks for inviting me along, Dorian,” Theo finally said.  “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into all of this.”

“This is what we do, love,” Dorian told him.  “Get in over our pretty heads.”  He looked over at Tanicus again.  “Second term: I have access to any and all academic material I need: texts, tomes, rare artifacts.”

“Easily done, and necessary to our success.”

“Third: I can come and go at will.”

“Not possible.”

“He’ll come back,” Theo said.  Tanicus flashed him a surprised glance.  Apparently he hadn’t been expecting Theo to chime in on the bargaining.  “Dorian is brilliant, which is no doubt why you want his assistance.  And yet for all his intelligence, he’s too stupid to leave me, even if it would save his own life.  He’ll come back, so long as you have me.  And I’m clearly not going anywhere,” he finished, staring at the glass vial.

Tanicus thought for a moment.  “This is all true.  Fine, I can concede to that.  Anything else?”

“Not at this moment.”  Dorian sipped at his wine.  “I suppose it’s now your turn?”

Tanicus leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.  He folded his hands.  “First: you leave your sending crystal with Magister Tilani.”  His grin spread.  “Don’t give me that look.  Please.  How else could you and Theodane have kept in contact about the Storm Coast operation?”

“Done,” Dorian said, and winced when Theo kicked him, hard, under the table.

“Bad idea,” Cardenio muttered, but he wrote it down anyway.

“You won’t publish your research and findings.”

Dorian chuckled.  “You know, my mother told me that you and your father were parasites feeding off others’ ideas and passing them off as your own.  This request is completely unsurprising.”

Tanicus had the decency to look ashamed, at least.  “I’m sorry she holds that opinion.  But in this case, this will be more than mere academic curiosity.  It really is of utmost importance that we retain professional secrecy.”

Dorian opened his mouth to protest, but Tanicus’s hand hovered over the vial again, and Theo furrowed his brow.  He shot Dorian a pained look and shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of something inside of it.  “Done,” Dorian said.  Besides, he didn’t truly believe that he’d uncover anything new and unusual.  “Anything else?”

Their meals came then, and when the waiters left they all paused to eat.  “Good choice of dining, Pavus,” Tanicus said.  “I’d heard good things about this place, but really…”

“Anymore terms?” Dorian prompted.  Across the table, Theo had relaxed again.  He prodded his dinner with his fork.  Occasionally, he glanced over at the vial.  That was the next thing Dorian had to figure out: how Tanicus could control Theo via blood magic, without Theo actively bleeding.  It had to have something to do with this vial.

Tanicus washed down a bite of risotto with his wine.  “I’ve recruited several powerful mages, all of whom are committed to doing their part to bring everything to fruition.  I’d like that commitment from you.”

And here was the rub: Tanicus’s request was vague enough to seem agreeable, but Dorian knew that requests worded in such a way were dangerous.  “Awfully loaded term,” Dorian said.  He cut his lamb.  Next to him, Cardenio chewed on his roasted boar, glaring at Tanicus and Theo.  “I’m not inclined to join your cult, if that’s what you want.”

“It’s not a  _ cult _ , though I can see how you may think so.” Tanicus sniffed.  He rested his napkin in his lap.  “I need a powerful mage to commit to this, and you fit the bill.  And let’s not forget I can remind you of the importance,” he said, smiling and nudging Theo.  Theo just stared down at his plate, miserable.

It was ominously vague still, but perhaps it would provide the loopholes Dorian needed to find.  “I suppose that can be agreed upon for now, though let’s not call it a caveat statement that you can refer back to anytime you want me to do anything,” Dorian finally said.  “I’d rather you not insult me by taking advantage of me.”

“Never.”  Tanicus took another bite and chewed thoughtfully.  “One last thing, you are aware of how spacious my estate is.  That should make my request that you move in for the time being easy to agree to.”

“On two conditions.”  Dorian rested his fork and knife on the edge of his plate.  “One, you let me spend time with Trevelyan.  I didn’t ask him to come all the way to Tevinter only for us to be kept apart.”  Tanicus chuckled and nodded; Theo actually smiled a little, and it warmed Dorian.

“What’s your other condition?”

“I get to bring my wardrobe.”

Tanicus shrugged.  “That should be easy enough.”

Theo laughed suddenly, startling them all.  “You’d think.  You haven’t seen his wardrobe.”

That was how Dorian knew Theo was not beyond hope.  And that, if he was going to walk into this gauntlet, at least he’d be with someone who’d walked gauntlets before and survived.

The rest of the meal passed in tense silence; even Tanicus wasn’t as vocal as he usually was, instead stirring the rest of his risotto in lazy circles on his plate while eyeing Dorian and Cardenio.  At last they exited the restaurant into the warm night.  Like most typical Minrathous nights people ambled about the plaza, and lights glimmered outside of other cafes and bistros along the walkway.  Dorian could almost believe that he’d had a pleasant evening with friends.

“Shall I expect you tomorrow, then, Dorian?” Tanicus finally asked.

“Sounds reasonable enough.”

Tanicus gave a nod.  “And just in case you decide this evening that you’d like to double cross me, or not hold to your end of our bargain, a reminder of what I can do.”

Cardenio slammed into him, knocking Dorian to the ground.  He jumped up, shedding his long coat and brandishing two long daggers that flashed in the orange glow of the streetlamps.  He lunged at Theo, who rushed in toward Dorian, bearing down with a gleaming dagger of his own.  Theo ignored Cardenio’s parries and blocks, snarling in frustration as he attempted to close in on Dorian.

Dorian watched with a sense of growing fear inside of him.  He’d never seen Theo fight with anything other than a bow; seeing him duck and weave in close combat was beautiful and terrifying.  He moved with speed and grace, and absolutely no fear.  He didn’t even notice that he was outmatched by Cardenio, and didn’t stop flailing like a feral animal when Cardenio disarmed him and caught him in a hold around the neck: not quite choking him, but definitely not comfortable.

A crowd surrounded them, watching uneasily.  Dorian got to his feet, and Tanicus waved a hand at Theo.  He stopped thrashing and suddenly noticed that he was immobilized by Cardenio.  He went limp, and Cardenio released him.  “Dor… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry?” he said softly, staring up at Dorian.  

Dorian stood over Theo, then offered him his hand.  Theo tentatively took it and got to his feet.  “I know.  This isn’t the real you.”  He wanted so badly to lash out at Tanicus with the full force of his magical ability: elemental spells, Necromancy spells,  _ everything _ he possessed.  But he didn’t.  He kept his eyes on Theo and gave him a brief hug.  “Until tomorrow,  _ Amatus.” _

Theo tentatively wrapped his arm around Dorian then released quickly before Tanicus could take control over him again.  “This isn’t goodbye?”

“Never.” 

Theo sighed with relief, and Dorian hoped he could make good on that promise.


	45. Beautiful Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part V: Razikale Rising

#  Chapter 45: Beautiful Prison

That was how Dorian found himself on Tanicus’s front doorstep the next morning, a few servants (including a disguised Cardenio) behind him with several trunks containing books and clothing.  He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to be comfortable while he was here.  He yanked the bellpull and waited, arms crossed over his chest, tapping his toe on the marble step.  The flock of bats fluttering in his stomach were a combination of anxiety and annoyance, and he hoped his expression portrayed the latter when Tanicus himself opened the door.

“Shall we begin?” Dorian asked in greeting, pushing past his ‘host’ and into the foyer.  He gestured for his retinue to follow.

“You don’t waste any time, do you, Pavus,” Tanicus said, leaning against the open door.  “Those can go upstairs.  I assume you won’t be requiring a private room?” he asked, voice pleasant, but with a hint of amused challenge to it.

“No thank you,” Dorian said, issuing his own challenge.  “You and your spouse may prefer time apart, but myself and mine have had enough of that.”  He let Tanicus appraise him, meeting the challenge with indifference.  Yes, Theo had tried to kill him less than twelve hours ago, but Dorian would not let Tanicus hold that fear over his head.

“Ah yes.  I told Celarea that you’d agreed to join our endeavors, and she was quite pleased.  She agreed to take another evening away from her duties and help host a quiet dinner to celebrate our agreement.”

“What’s for dinner?  Tongue?” Dorian asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Completely unimaginative.  I know how you feel about that aspect of things, and there is a good reason you’ll learn in time.  Our chef procured some lovely turbot filets…”

Tanicus didn’t think there was a single thing odd about his behavior or his plans, which Dorian found both impressive and ominous.  Tanicus could move from passive-aggressive commentary on his and Theo’s relationship, to grinning like a child over a good catch for dinner; and he would probably ask Dorian for his assistance with a blood magic ritual later on, and Dorian would not be surprised.  Tanicus claimed to be different from the Venatori, but in the end, they were all the same.

First things first: Dorian needed to know just where he was working, and what he was working with.  He already knew Tanicus had some tomes he didn’t, but Dorian also had other books that the Thrassea library lacked.  He’d brought those he thought may be useful.  He’d left his leather journal with the eluvian notes locked in his desk at his apartment; not only was it all theoretical, but that was  _ his _ research, and his agreement with Tanicus stipulated that he would be giving up his rights.

He pulled a few books out, mostly ones dealing with Razikale and the Old Gods.  He’d been raised on the stories of the Old Gods, but they were just stories.  When he joined the Inquisition, however, the knowledge that the stories had more than just a semblance of truth to them had shaken him, making him question what he believed.

Dorian was about as religious and devoted to the Imperial Chantry as any other Tevinter, to the point that he didn’t recall the last time he’d set foot in the building.  He’d been in the Southern Andrastian Chantries more by now.  The Imperial Chantry and its Divine were merely figureheads.  But he believed that there had to be  _ something _ watching over them; the idea that they were alone, that there was nothing at all, terrified him.  Still, he found as much use for organized religion as a soporati would find with a mage’s staff.

With all he’d experienced in the Inquisition, and all he’d learned beyond the eluvians so many months back, he found he couldn’t discount the possibility that Razikale did indeed sleep far below Thedas, just waiting to be corrupted.  The Venatori had tried using the Grey Wardens to build an army of demons to assault sleeping Razikale and her brother Lusacan, thus ending the Blights.  Dorian realized that this plan had a similar effect, though it was much more terrifying to think about waking a slumbering dragon to come rule over them.

Dorian took an armload of books and headed down the hallway and up the grand staircase.  Large windows overlooked the waters of the channel, and the vast island of Minrathous beyond that.  The sunlight glinted off the observatory at the top of the Circle’s library tower, and the Magisterium loomed over the city.  From this angle, Dorian appreciated the beauty of the city, though deep down he knew that the glittering facade was just that.

Most of the doors upstairs were closed, but one had been left ajar and Dorian pushed it open and walked into a large room, more of a suite, with windows also looking out over Minrathous.  The large canopy bed occupied one wall, and another wall boasted a fireplace and comfortable sitting area with a polished antique writing desk covered with scraps of parchment.  Theo sat in one of the chairs in front of the cold fireplace, brows furrowed and jaw clenched.  Dorian knew the look well: Theo’s determination and stubbornness, and his complete inability to hide his emotions.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Dorian asked, taking a couple of steps into the room and closing the door.  “This is a beautiful room.  Great view of the city, nice light, well-decorated.”

“But still a prison,” Theo guessed, his expression softening.  “Hello, Dorian.”

“ _ Amatus.” _

His lips quirked up on one side.  “Even after I tried to kill you?”

“You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.”  Dorian sat on the floor next to Theo’s chair and rested his head on Theo’s knee.  “And even if Tanicus controls you, in my dying breaths I will swear on the Old Gods and the Maker… maybe even the Creators and the Paragons as well, because why not show how much I mean this?” he asked, smiling up at Theo.  “I will swear that it was Tanicus who dealt the killing blow and not you.”

Theo dropped his hand and absently carded his fingers through Dorian’s hair.  If Dorian closed his eyes, they could pretend this was home: Skyhold, Qarinus… anywhere other than the house of Tanicus Thrassea.  Still, at least being together helped.  

“I do try,” Theo told him, lightly caressing Dorian’s cheek.  “When I start to feel… or stop feeling, really.  I try to fight it.”

“Blood magic is not easily overcome, particularly spells cast by a skillful maleficar,” Dorian told him.  Only then did he catch Theo’s hand in his, and spy the lines carved into Theo’s forearm.  “ _ Vishante kaffas.” _  He turned Theo’s arm, examining the scarring cuts from various angles.  “This isn’t just bloodletting.  This was ritualistic.  I’ve seen this design before,” he said suddenly.

“Eluvia.  I read about it, but I don’t remember the details.”  Theo sighed and leaned back.

“I do.  I’m going to stop him,  you know.” Dorian released his wrist.  “I don’t give a single shit about his Old God scheme other than the shit it will take to end it.”

“Even with me just one--” He paused and waggled his fingers.  “Away from possibly hurting you?”

“You’d have made a terrible mage,” Dorian said with a sage nod.

“Well yeah; I only have one hand.  Only half the magic.” Theo waggled his fingers again, and reached out to ruffle Dorian’s hair.

For a moment, it was almost normal.

“I’ve been writing down things before I forget them,” Theo told him.  “There’s no real order to it, but you’re welcome to what I’ve compiled.”

“You are far too selfless for your own good,” Dorian teased, giving Theo’s knee a brief squeeze.  He gathered the paper scraps Theo had scattered over the desk and started skimming through them.  Some of what Theo had written was illegible; some of it made very little sense.  But Dorian didn’t mention any of this-- Theo was trying so, so hard to be loyal, to be defiant.  Dorian’s heart nearly broke seeing how scattered Theo’s thoughts were.

Theo was a different kind of intelligent; where Dorian devoured knowledge, Theo just knew things instinctively and trusted his intuition.  He observed the world around him, quickly gathering and processing information; by the time Dorian realized what was happening, Theo would be rushing headlong into a fight.  Right now, he sat in the overstuffed chair, chewing on his bottom lip, eyes concerned and unfocused.  Dorian knew certain levels of mind blast spells could cause irreparable harm; he hoped this blood magic ritual would not leave lasting damage.

Tanicus had agreed to unrestricted access to research materials; he’d never specified  _ what _ research materials, or that any research into blood magic was off limits.

Loophole one.

Unfortunately Tanicus dismissed Dorian’s servants, including Cardenio, after his things had been brought upstairs.  Dinner was a far cry from the other times Dorian had been to the Thrassea manor.  For one, he had Theo with him; under any other circumstances Tanicus would not find Theo interesting, by sheer virtue of the fact he was a soporati.  And for the other, his wife joined them.  Dorian had only met her briefly at the party, and now that he had a closer look at her, he only had more questions.

He was unable to tell if Celarea was far younger than her husband, or agelessly older.  In some respects, she didn’t even seem human, but like some ethereal spirit.  She said nothing, and when Dorian glanced at Theo, Theo surreptitiously pointed to his mouth and shook his head.  Most interesting.

Tanicus chattered on about the food, about politics, about the weather, either oblivious to Dorian’s sullen silence, or once again turning passive aggression into an artform.  Next to him, Theo had his eyes on the pair of silver wire-wrapped vials resting on the table near Tanicus and Celarea’s plates.  Both were sealed with dark blue wax.

After the meal, they headed to the observatory once more.  “It’s dark enough that you can see Eluvia just starting to emerge,” he said, staring up through the glass into the deep blue sky.  He pointed out a star.  “Celares,” he said, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders.  She rested her head against him with a dreamy smile on her face.  “And there…” he pointed out a few stars winking into being, and traced lines between them in the sky.  

“Do you carve constellations onto everyone in your little cult?” Dorian asked as he wandered the observatory.  A few knick-knacks graced the shelves: various rough-cut gems in shades of blue, a gold sextant, a brass spyglass, and an effigy of a dragon made out of glass, and some other glass figurines. 

“Eluvia lights the way,” Tanicus said.  “We all bear marks of servitude.”

“I’m partial to tattoos.  You know, when my time comes,” Dorian said, voice dripping venom.  Theo let out a long-suffering sigh.  “But since we  _ are  _ here, and we’ve agreed to the terms of my imprisonment… I mean, assistance, I should like to know with what I am actually assisting.”

“Fair enough.”  Tanicus got out the brandy and offered Dorian some of the pure lyrium, but Dorian declined.  

“First off, why this lyrium?” Dorian asked, seeing the soft blue glow reflected in Tanicus’s eyes.  “The Sidereal had phenomenal results meeting up with the Old Gods with regular lyrium--nearly all that could be mined in Orzammar in a year--but still regular lyrium, and blood.  Moreover, why not just use the red?  Plenty of that still lying around, unfortunately.”

“Because it’s corrupted.” Tanicus rolled his eyes, which annoyed Dorian for reasons he couldn’t put a finger on.  “I’ve done the research, and even tried some experiments with it.  It thins the Veil, and I don’t wish to part the Veil.”

“Too bad.  I know someone you would have gotten along with,” Theo interjected.

Tanicus ignored him.  “Red lyrium is unpredictable--”

“And pure lyrium like this isn’t?” Theo asked.  “I went into the Deep Roads.  I  _ felt  _ the Titan all around me.  This isn’t just lyrium, this is blood.  The blood of something infinitely older and more terrible than your Old Gods.”

“What  _ didn’t _ you see when you were down there?” Tanicus asked, turning his attention to Theo.  “Think about what you had to get through to access those mines.”

“Darkspawn Warrens.  A ruined Thaig--”

“Rumored to have been built near the chamber of an Old God before it was corrupted.  Someday I’d love to see that,” Tanicus interrupted.  “You didn’t see any darkspawn once you delved deep enough, did you.  This lyrium is older than darkspawn, and it’s pure: uncorrupted.  Like Razikale.”

Dorian looked up at the sky again, then back to Tanicus and his silent wife.  “Do you plan to seek out Razikale’s lair?” He wasn’t sure if he should be horrified or amused.  

“This lyrium is from older, deeper places than the Deep Roads go.  As we know, there are Deep Roads beneath Minrathous, and likely even deeper places, much like what was found on the Storm Coast.  The Minrathous Circle was once a temple dedicated to the worship of Razikale, and all things mysterious.”  Tanicus took his wife’s hand.  “Celarea is the Augur of Mystery.  She is the current High Priestess of Razikale, and has determined it’s time.”

Dorian let Tanicus’s words sink into his head.  “It took untold amounts of blood and lyrium to assault the Golden City,” he said at last, leaning forward in his chair.  “What do you propose it will take to awaken your god?”

“Pure lyrium, blood, and power.  Oh, and a portal to Razikale’s lair, which will also take lyrium, blood, and power,” Tanicus added.

“I see,” Dorian said evenly.  He did not look at Theo.  He thought only of his research journal locked up in his office in his apartment.  So long as no one knew what he was researching as a diversion from politics, he could play ignorant until he figured out how to take them down.

Loophole two.

It was only when he went to bed later on, holding Theo close and trying to reassure him that he trusted his husband not to kill him in his sleep, that he felt a hollowness in his stomach, gnawing away at his intestines and up toward his heart.

It may have been too late for Loophole two to be of any use.

There would be others.  He just had to be patient.  He buried his face in Theo’s shoulder, blew errant strands of Theo’s long hair out of his mustache and tried to sleep.  He’d voluntarily entered this agreement; and even if it was a prison, at least he had Theo sharing the cell.


	46. The Augur of Mystery

#  Chapter 46: The Augur of Mystery

Threats didn’t typically come written in dark blue, flowing script on heavy cream parchment, and yet that was what Maranda saw when she looked at the invitation to the next lecture in Tacitus Thrassea’s Razikale series.  A threat, that if she and Maevaris didn’t attend, they’d miss critical information.  A dare, challenging them to see what was becoming of Theo and Dorian.

“We go,” Maevaris said simply, when Maranda showed her the invitation.  Dark circles ringed Mae’s blue eyes.  “It’s the only way we’ll find out what they’re planning, since Dorian’s communication is limited.”

“What if it’s a trap?” Maranda asked.

Mae managed a ghost of a smile.  “It could be.  Or it could be a chance for the Thrasseas to gloat. Either way we’ll find out what their endgame is.”

Cardenio entered the conservatory, looking dusty and ragged, but in otherwise good spirits.  “Wherever you’re going, I’d like to go as well,” he announced, flopping into one of the chairs.  He pushed up his sleeves and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Maranda handed him the invitation and couldn’t hold back her wince when he left dirty fingerprints all over the parchment.  “I don’t think you’d enjoy it.  It’s a mage thing,” she explained.

Cardenio raised his eyebrow and casually flicked the invitation to the floor.  “ _ Cara _ , I believe we are well past mages and not-mages by this point.”  He turned to face her, and Maranda looked at him. Really  _ looked  _ at him, and saw the worry in his dark eyes.  “I trained your brother.  I went into the Deep Roads with you both.  I am no mage, but I know that whatever these  _ bastardi  _ plan, it affects us all.”

Mae tapped her chin.  “There’s nothing that says soporati cannot attend,” she said at last.

“Even if it’s in the Circle?”

“Templars come and go, and I’ve seen the Publicans meeting with Magisters there before,” Mae said.  “Likely held there for intimidation purposes, but there were soporati all the same.”

“And Thrassea knows me now,” Cardenio pointed out.  “He is not the only one who can hire soporati assassins.  The difference is I  _ want _ to gut him.”  When he smiled, so pleasant and eager, like a child on his nameday, Maranda could only shake her head.  The Circle had definitely not prepared her for this.

Maevaris went to rest, waving off Maranda’s concerned looks.  “No worries.  Just a bit of tension in the Magisterium of late.  Nothing I can’t handle, and nothing a little actual rest won’t help with,” she said, heading to bed even though it was the middle of the day.

“Do you want to take her advice?” Cardenio asked.

“I’d actually like to get out,” she confessed.  “Just sitting here waiting… well, it reminds me too much of being back in the Circle.  We were always waiting for something, but never knew what.  It was maddening, really.”

“I think we’re waiting for Tanicus to make his next move,” Cardenio offered.  “If you really wish to get out,  _ cara _ , I’ll accompany you.”

They headed out into the hot sun, and Maranda cast a cooling spell that enveloped the two of them as they walked into the center of the city.  “I haven’t really thanked you,” she said suddenly, and Cardenio gave her a quizzical look.  “For looking out for my brother, and for being too nice to tell me when I’m useless.”

He laughed.  “You?  Useless?  Never.  You have a different set of skills, and they have been extremely useful.  What will you do after this?”

She quirked an eyebrow up.  “Assuming we survive? Assuming we don’t all end up dragon fodder?”  He smiled.  “I’m not sure.  I’m guessing Theo will want to stay with Dorian, though after all of this he may have had his fill of Minrathous.”

“I asked about you, not your brother,” Cardenio said, gently nudging her with his shoulder.

She blushed.  “Right.  I’m honestly not sure.  Maybe go back to Ostwick.  I had a good job there; maybe they’ll take me back, especially if I now have Tevinter connections.  Or maybe that will be reason enough for them  _ not  _ to hire me again.  What about you?  More chanting?”

He shrugged.  “It pays the bills.  It ensures shelter and at least one hot meal a day, though the conversation is lacking,” he said with wink.  It was Maranda’s turn to laugh.  “I do not know.  I learned to never make plans.  Too easy for them to get disrupted.”

“That’s why I came, when it comes down to it.  I didn’t have any other plans, so why not?”

“You and me both,” Cardenio said.  “Well, that and your brother was still paying me to train him.”

“And here I thought you were doing it out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow,” Cardenio teased.  Then he stopped.  “Dissonant verses,” he said suddenly.  “That may be a way to stop them.”  His dark eyes widened in excitement.  “The Chant is a story, above all,” he explained, having trouble keeping himself from bouncing on the pavement.  “And stories tell us about people: who we are, how we act, and why.  It could give Dorian something to work with.”

“You think Dorian will be there?” she asked doubtfully.

That  _ did _ make Cardenio stop.  “ _ Cara _ , of  _ course _ he’ll be there.”

* * *

Dressing for the lecture the next evening felt a bit like preparing for battle, especially when Maevaris came out dressed in a practical blue-green robe over black leather mage armor.  Maranda felt the enchantments woven into her robes and cast over her armor when Mae passed her.  “Should I have done something to my outfit?” she asked, looking down at her plum silk robes, draped over a simple pair of dark trousers.

“No, I just like to make a statement,” Mae said with a smile.  “I doubt we’d be doing full-blown battle within the Minrathous Circle tonight.”  She waved for Maranda to follow her to a room off the study.  She snapped her fingers and magical globes of light illuminated a wall with several staves on display.  “What’s your preferred school?”

“Storm,” Maranda said without thinking.  Here, she didn’t need to pretend that she didn’t call the lightning to her; she didn’t have to hide behind her skills as an herbalist, so she wouldn’t stand out.  Here, she could embrace the storm.

Maevaris lifted a polished black staff from its hooks and handed it to her.  Maranda surveyed the globe on the end, held in place by carefully carved wooden prongs.  The delicate glass shimmered blue-violet, and when she touched it, tiny arcs of lightning reached back toward her fingertips.

“I think that one was called Wind Waker,” Mae said, selecting a staff of her own.  “In fact, I’d like you to have it.  Some suitor gifted it to me at one point or another; it’s a lovely piece of work, but I never took to it.  You, however…”

“Thank you,” Maranda said, twirling the staff in her hand.  It was lighter than she was accustomed to, but in the Circle, everything was meant to make the mages slower, clunkier.  Everything held them back.  

Back in the foyer, Cardenio finished up his preparations, buckling on a shoulder harness and belt with several holsters for knives of various sizes.  He shrugged into a dark leather coat, and bowed in greeting.  “Ladies, may I have the pleasure of escorting you?” he asked with a grin.

They chose to walk to increase their chances of being seen.  Minrathous was a city of eyes and ears, and doubtless word of their approach would reach Tacitus, Tanicus, and Celarea before they did.  Maranda let her staff thunk against the stones, eyes trained straight ahead toward the Circle tower.

Much as they expected, a templar stopped them at the entrance to the Circle.  “Tonight’s lecture is open to mages only,” he said, flicking his eyes toward Cardenio.

“Oh, but I can do magic.” Cardenio opened his coat to reveal his weapons.  “I can make my knives disappear.  And then I can make your body disappear as well,” he whispered conspiratorially.  His hand drifted to his hip holster and he smiled.  Maranda and Maevaris stood on either side of him, staring at the templar doorman, who finally waved them all through.

Dorian relaxed in one of the seats, and he rose when he saw Maranda, Maevaris, and Cardenio.  “Fancy seeing you all here,” he said, giving Maranda and Mae perfunctory embraces.  He smiled, but Maranda saw the exhaustion in his pale grey eyes.  “How have you been?”

“Worried, anxious, you know.  The usual,” Maranda told him.  “I think how  _ you’ve _ been is the better question.”

“While I always adore talking about myself, I don’t know that I’m at liberty to say very much about that,” Dorian told her, his smile fading.  “Though you are intelligent, and I’d daresay you’ll be able to pick up on a few things this evening.”

“Theo?” Maranda asked in a low voice, taking a seat next to Dorian.

“Back at the manor.”  

Maranda had so many more questions, but she stifled them and accepted Dorian’s terse response.  Her brother was still alive, which would have to satisfy her for now.  

The din around them faded when old Tacitus Thrassea entered and approached the lectern.  The first time she’d seen him, he’d reminded Maranda of one of her former enchanters: a harmless, slightly eccentric old academic.  Now when she saw him, she saw an ambitious old madman, not unlike the way many down south painted Tevinter mages.

When he began his lecture, in his lilting and musical voice, she found it hard to focus on what he was saying because of her anger.  Maevaris nudged her, and Maranda glanced over to see Celarea Coventinas standing alongside Tanicus Thrassea.  It was the first time she’d ever seen Celarea out in public, and imagined that this wasn’t a good thing.  Things grew even worse, however, when a door opened behind her.

Tacticus paused only briefly in his lecture to look up, and then continued as if nothing were amiss, even though Archon Radonis himself entered.

“As I said, the Tevinter Imperium’s long history has made us forget our foundations.  Magic, here, does serve the common good, but it could be so much greater!”

“Hence our proposition for Imperium-wide Laetan education, but who listens to us?” Dorian murmured, and Maevaris covered her laughter by clearing her throat.  

“What if we turned, instead, to the mysteries of the past, and let them guide our future?”

“This isn’t a lecture, it’s a sermon,” Maranda whispered.

“What’s the difference?” Cardenio asked her.

“I  _ did _ grow up in the Circle system  There really isn’t much of a difference there,” she confessed.  

Radonis cleared his throat, a soft noise that still managed to travel throughout the room and cause Tacitus to look up, annoyed, in the Archon’s direction.  “Your passion for preserving magic is commendable,” the Archon began.  “What do you propose to do, that legislation and due political process cannot?”  It was a subtle challenge, and Radonis sat straight, eyes fixed on Tacitus.

Annoyed as he was, Tacitus kept his composure.  “When we forget the past, we are doomed to repeat it.  It cannot escape anyone’s notice that Tevinter’s future is dim.  I don’t stand up here to cast aspersions or lay blame.  Only to suggest that the future is a mystery, and rather than take for granted that we will even  _ have _ a future, perhaps we should consider those mysteries more closely.”  He paused and took a deep breath, then dabbed his shiny forehead with a cloth.  “A brief recess, if you will?” he asked, and then disappeared through the door behind the lectern.

“He said an awful lot of nothing just then,” Cardenio pointed out, resting his feet on the back of the seat in front of him, and ignoring the displeased glares coming his way.

“He can’t say much with the Archon watching and listening,” Dorian explained.  “What they’re proposing to do is sacrilegious at best, treasonous at worst.  But luckily Radonis doesn’t seem terribly impressed,” he added, glancing behind him and watching Radonis leave.  He scratched at the light stubble on his jaw.  “Now the real show begins.”

Maranda didn’t have to wait long to find out what Dorian meant.  Shortly after the Archon’s departure Tacitus came out once more and apologized.  “An old man needs his rest every so often.  Where were we…”  He made a show of flipping through his notes, then looked up and around.  “Friends.  Many of you have been to the other talks in my lecture series, and know of my research surrounding Razikale.  While Old God worship is not forbidden, it is highly taboo.  Tonight, I wish to introduce you to my inspiration: the Augur of Mystery, High Priestess of Razikale herself.”

Celarea stepped forward and bowed, her pale blonde hair spilling over her shoulders.  “To those of you who would believe, we invite you to the observatory a ten days hence, when the star Celares, center of the constellation Eluvia, will be directly overhead.”  He stared up, eyes sweeping over Dorian, Maranda, and Maevaris before he grinned and relaxed again.  “Then, we shall exalt in the Mysterious.”

He exited to silence.  “Huh.  It really  _ was _ a sermon,” Maranda said at last.  She rested her hand on the staff at her side.  All told, she liked that magic was a way of life in Tevinter, but it irritated her that it would be people like the Thrassea clan who would skew the opinions of anyone down south when it came to their thoughts on the Imperium.

 


	47. Eluvia's Riddle

#  Chapter 47: Eluvia’s Riddle

Dorian shook his head.  “Impossible.  With two  _ months _ maybe, but ten days _? _  Not happening.”

“And it’s not a question of incentive, either,” Theo piped up from where he sat in a corner, flipping through a book.  “If Dorian doesn’t think it can be done, it can’t be done.”  He wasn’t even trying to save his own skin or sanity at this point.  He had also had enough fucking eluvians to last his entire life.  He wasn’t surprised that the Thrasseas were going to use an eluvian for whatever grand plan they hoped to bring about.  But at the same time, he wished that the villains in his life could exercise a little more creativity.

This eluvian had several large cracks running along its darkened surface.  In the center, where the cracks intersected, a fist-sized shard of glass was missing, revealing the back of the mirror.  It was a curious phenomenon--especially for Theo, who had traversed so many eluvians in his life--to see the solid backing.  And now Tanicus and Celarea expected Dorian to repair it in less than two weeks’ time?

Celarea paced before the dull glass, which showed a blur of her reflection.  Her midnight blue robe whispered along the stone floor and Theo watched the vial of his blood bump along at her side. Neither she nor her husband had taken a knife to his arm again since that first night, so he concluded that those two vials held the key to his freedom.  He’d mentioned it to Dorian, who furrowed his brow and agreed, but had no answers.

Theo watched his husband.  Thinking and reading weren’t passive activities for Dorian, but things he poured his whole being into.  While Dorian could keep his expression neutral in the most pressure-filled circumstances, nothing excited him like an academic puzzle.  This, however, was both.

“You know, usually before one reveals their grand scheme to the world, one is certain that said scheme has a chance of working,” Dorian said, tapping his chin with one finger.  He leaned in and examined the cracked eluvian again.  “I’d hardly be able to figure out unlocking an intact eluvian, let alone repairing and activating this one.  This is how you intend to access your god’s lair?”

Dorian did most things well, but Theo enjoyed the way he managed to passive-aggressively bait Tanicus.  Sure, Tanicus had the power to turn Theo into a murderous rage monster with the wave of his hand, but Theo took what entertainment he could.  

Finally Tanicus just kicked a chair that went skittering a few paces before clattering over.  “Do more research.  Read, experiment,  _ anything _ . __ Fucking blood magic, for all I care!”

“Or else?” Dorian asked with a ghost of a grin.

Tanicus pushed at the air with his palm and Dorian slammed into the bookshelf behind him, and fell to the floor.  Theo dropped the book and jumped up, but Tanicus spun around and hit him with a similar force spell.  He crumpled in the corner, the air driven from his lungs and leaving him dazed.  Tanicus strode over to Theo and hauled him up by the collar of his shirt.  “You once said you’d rather turn to blood magic than become Archon.  I wonder what else would force you to turn to blood magic?”

Theo met Dorian’s eyes.   _ Don’t even think about it, _ Theo thought as he stared at Dorian.   _ It’s not worth it. _  If Dorian turned to blood magic for him, Theo would never be able to live with himself.  It violated everything Dorian stood for.

Celarea looked between them both for a long while.  Theo stiffened, waiting for the moment he woke up with blood all over his hands, or a dead body lying before him; but it never came.  Tanicus let him go and stalked back to the tunnel leading to the estate.  Theo still didn’t know where under Minrathous they currently were, and why no one had yet discovered the arcane laboratory.

Celarea stood in front of the mirror, scowling like a child at the muted reflection, more a blob of dark blue and ghostly white than an actual reflection.  She pressed her hands to the glass and leaned her forehead against it.  Dorian shivered, and even Theo felt the faint frisson of magic when she did so.  Whatever the mark had done to him, whatever damage it had left behind, had made him at least sensitive to powerful magic.

“That’s hopeful, at least,” Dorian mentioned as they made their way through the darkened tunnel.  

“I’m not sure if I’m pleased that this could work, or terrified,” Theo confessed.  “Not to mention a little shaken that I could feel it when she touched the glass.”

He couldn’t see Dorian absently twirl the end of his mustache, but Theo knew he was doing it.  “Yes, that too is curious.  Definitely worth researching after all of this.”

“I  _ am _ getting used to this whole experimental specimen thing,” Theo said with a shrug.  

“Oh?  Just…  _ how _ experimental would you like to get?”

Theo stopped in the dark tunnel.  “Dor, now’s really not the time.”

He jumped when Dorian’s fingers brushed his cheek and then tucked his hair behind his ear.  “ _ Amatus, _ we’re the linchpins in a grand scheme to awaken an Old God.  I think I’ll take whatever time with you I can.”  His lips brushed over Theo’s.  “Honestly, if the Old Gods are irritable when woken by darkspawn, who don’t know any better, can you fathom just how fractious Razikale will be when woken by humans who do?”  He took Theo’s hand and they continued on.  “Really though, I hate this entire thing, and wish I knew what to do to put an end to it,” he confessed.

“If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.” Theo squeezed his hand.  “Otherwise, why would they be so intent on recruiting you?”

“When you put it that way, it’s almost flattering.”

They emerged in the basement of the Thrassea estate.  “You know…”  Theo paused and glanced around.  No other slaves hovered around, and he heard no footsteps coming from the tunnel behind them.  “Solas probably knows about every eluvian now.  If a new one were to open…”

“Both of our problems could take care of themselves,” Dorian finished.  “ _ Amatus, _ you’re brilliant.”

“Just hopeful that maybe something good can come out of all of this shit.”  Theo retired to his room.  Somewhere out in Minrathous his older sister struggled to find a way to free them both.  Somewhere, a thousand miles east, his family was blissfully ignorant of what was happening to them.  Theo pulled out the map of Thedas again; it had become a pastime of his, checking off where he’d been, and thinking about where he’d like to go.

Dorian had promised him a proper Antivan honeymoon when this was all finished, and while Theo wanted to think positively, he also had to think realistically.  He’d been too lucky for too long.  Some would not call his current situation “lucky”; but he could be dead, he could be missing his tongue, he could have died in deep lyrium mines.  He looked over the map and thought about beaches and sun that was warm without being scorching; he thought of pirates and assassins and fresh coffee.  He and Josephine had parted on good terms; perhaps she’d have some connections and could help him settle.  He turned his arm over and stared at the red scars there.  He had to get out of this first.  At this point, he’d settle for getting out alive; if he managed with his sanity intact, even better.

When he opened his eyes later, it was dark.  Theo no longer felt  panic twinging in his chest.  All that mattered was there was no blood on his hands.  And if he woke up where he’d fallen asleep, chances were good he’d merely been sleeping, and not under Tanicus’s control.  

Theo headed out into the halls, pausing every so often to listen.  No soft voices, no footsteps.  He headed for the observatory, where he found Dorian staring up at the night sky and holding a glass dragon figurine in one hand.  “Couldn’t sleep?” Theo asked softly.

“I’m on a bit of a strict timeline, love,” Dorian told him.  He set the dragon down on a table and held out his arms.  Theo no longer hesitated, fearing what Celarea or Tanicus could make him do.  They’d make him do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and he would not give into that satisfaction by staying away from Dorian.  “I’ll sleep when I’ve solved this puzzle.  I’ve gone longer than this without rest.” He wrapped his around around Theo.  “I didn’t think I’d appreciate your hair growing out the way I do,” he commented suddenly.  “I think now that it’s past the shaggy stage, it’s rather becoming.”

Theo blushed.  “Can’t do a thing with it.  Have you come to any conclusions?”

Dorian settled on a small sofa and pulled Theo down next to him.  He held up the dragon figurine, which sparkled in the pale starlight.  “The Old Gods were often depicted as dragons,” he explained, “which is why they believe the archdemons manifest as giant corrupted dragons.”

Theo held out his hand and Dorian gave him the figurine.  “Part of why I’m not exactly keen on you helping the Augur and her lot contact Razikale, if it can indeed be done.”

Dorian covered Theo’s hand with his own.  “I don’t know if waking Razikale is necessarily what will happen.  This may be the ultimate academic research.  I know I gave my rights away to protect you, but I don’t know that I’d want to publish what I uncover, the more I learn.”

“I didn’t intend for you to give up anything for me.  I wanted to help you, and now, once again I’m just holding you back.”  Theo stared down at the dragon in his hand.

“Stop that.”  Dorian kissed the top of his head.  He examined the dragon for himself, and held it to the sky.  Then he sat up straighter.  He stood and cast a pale magelight that followed him as he paced the room, looking over the shelves.  “When uncovering a mystery, the first rule is nothing is as it seems.”  He held up another glass figurine, this one of what appeared to be a woman, sitting cross-legged, with clouds where her head should have been.  He held this up to the stars, centering the figure’s torso over the star Celares.  “Eluvia.  The lady of wishes,” he declared.  “Come on.”

Theo’s breath caught in his throat at Dorian’s excitement, so wild and palpable.  Dorian clutched the statue of Eluvia in one hand and grabbed Theo by the wrist with the other.  The blue magelight lit their way through the manor as Dorian led him down into the basement, and to the entry of the tunnel, where Theo balked.

“Dor.  I don’t know if I can,” he whispered, staring down into the dark.  “What if she’s there?”

“Then she’ll learn about how I intend to repair her Maker-forsaken eluvian.  Otherwise, we’ll just gloat over breakfast.”  Dorian’s eyes sparkled in the magical light, and his excitement made his magic vibrate beneath the surface of his skin to the point Theo could feel it in his grip.

He had always trusted Dorian before, and if this put an end to things, he would follow Dorian even into the Void.

They passed through the dark tunnel, barely noticing the strange shadows cast by the magelight.  Theo’s heart pounded as he kept pace with Dorian.

“I can fix the eluvian,” he announced when they came out in Celarea’s workspace.  She looked up from where she sat, staring at the mirror with bleary eyes.  For one moment she looked human: tired, frustrated, haunted.  Theo nearly felt bad for her, but when her eyes lit up and she stared hungrily at Dorian, the sympathy ebbed.  “Are you particularly attached to this figurine?” he asked.

She stared at Dorian for a long moment, weighing his tone, his expression, and her response.  Finally she shook her head.

Theo sat down in the corner again, hugging one knee to his chest and watching Dorian work.  Dorian took the figurine to the stone table in the center of the room and Theo chewed on his bottom lip. Dorian looked around and picked up the small mallet and Theo worked at keeping his breathing even and dug his fingernails into his palm.  Dorian couldn’t know what those tools were for, or what they’d done.  And now, Dorian used them to start chipping pieces off of the figurine.

Celarea watched, clasping her hands.  Her blue eyes were sad as she watched, and Theo realized that the glass figure had meaning for her.  But she was willing to sacrifice it if it meant she got what she needed.

The hours passed, Dorian humming to himself as he chipped pieces of the figure away and started adding the glass shards and chunks to a mortar, and began grinding it into a fine powder with a pestle.  Theo dozed, neck crooked at an odd angle; but he would rather be here with Dorian than alone, wondering and worrying.

Finally Dorian had a dish full of ground up glass that had once been Eluvia.  He dipped his fingers into the dust and touched one of the cracks in the eluvian glass.  A wide grin spread over his face.  He wiped his fingertips off on the side of his leg and wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.  “A little lyrium, and some intensive magic, maybe…” He crossed his arms over his chest and drummed the fingers of one hand on his forearm.  “Storm.  Yes.”

“Not fire?” Theo asked, yawning.

“There was already an Old God of fire,” Dorian explained.  “And ice is too fragile.  But the school of storm magic is mysterious: what causes the lightning?  Why does the lightning react the way it does?  Where does it come from?”

Theo smiled.  “The denizens of the Deep Roads were vulnerable to it.  Valta and Renn said it was the magic of the sky.”

“And this lyrium comes from deeper down than any ever known,” Dorian added.  “A little pure deep lyrium, a lot of storm magic, and we should have a repaired eluvian,” he announced.  He covered the container of glass dust and turned to face Celarea.  “And now, I intend to get some much-deserved rest.”

He spun on his heel, gesturing for Theo to follow.

When they were up in their room once more, Dorian flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes, but a grin spread over his face.  “Do you think it will work?” Theo asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Dorian pulled him down and folded him into a hug.  “I’ve spent the last months so angry with Solas,” he said.  “For how he used you, what we went through all because of him, and how he got to gallivant off through the eluvian, leaving you dying in the middle of nowhere,” he said, voice surprisingly fierce.  “But now, I’m glad he did.  I hope he’s there, monitoring his precious fucking eluvians when I shove every.  Last.  Thrassea into that mirror.”

“And then we’ll go to Antiva?”

Dorian smiled and kissed his forehead.  “And then we’ll go to Antiva.”


	48. Mirror, Mirror

#  Chapter 48: Mirror, Mirror

Dorian was well-acquainted with success, and he gave off the impression that he knew exactly what he was doing even when he didn’t, and  _ especially _ when he didn’t.  He’d seen lightning-struck sand before, and how the intensity of the lightning turned it to glass.  With enough storm magic, he figured he could, in theory, melt the glass dust of the Eluvia statue.  Throw in a bit of pure deep lyrium for the magical aspect of things, and he could at least fix the mirror.

Rendering it functional was entirely another thing.  

He knew he had the strength of storm magic, though even with his sheer talents he wasn’t sure it would be enough.  He would probably need to work with Celarea, which he didn’t fancy, but if it helped his goal, he would do it.  He didn’t even know what her magical abilities were, aside from looking haunting and mysterious.  He supposed some men found that intriguing.  

Theo stirred next to him, and Dorian adjusted his hold.  This wasn’t how he’d expected they’d spend their time in Minrathous.  Then again, nothing in Dorian’s life went “as expected”.  He was content with that, especially if it meant finally settling down with Theo.  Of course, only after he’d destroyed the very mirror he’d worked to repair.

Dorian grinned in spite of himself.  He never thought he’d  _ miss _ politics.  But now committee meetings and senate sessions sounded absolutely delightful.

“Wusso funny,” Theo muttered, rolling over and pulling a blanket over his head.

“Life’s little jokes,” Dorian explained, shoving the blanket off.  “Also, it’s been nearly a week since you last tried to kill me,” he teased.  “I think we’re making progress.”

But Theo didn’t laugh.  He turned back to face Dorian, eyes still bleary and tired and ringed with dark circles.  “Tanicus said I was bound by blood.  Does that mean… if they die, I do too?”  His voice was small and timid.  “I know I rush into things headlong like an idiot and cheat death every step of the way, but I don’t think I can handle going out like that.”

“I’ve not studied blood magic enough to know,” Dorian told him.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for not knowing blood magic.” Theo sighed.  “The longer this goes on the less I can think straight.”

“Once we break the spell we’ll see about reversing the damage,” Dorian promised, running his fingers through Theo’s hair.  “Whatever happens between now and then, I don’t hold against you.”

Theo gave a nervous laugh.  “That’s pretty loaded.”

Dorian dressed and left Theo to sleep some more, or at least that’s what he thought Theo would do.  Sometimes he thought Theo just preferred to keep as much distance between himself and Tanicus or Celarea as possible, especially if Dorian was around.  He didn’t trust himself, and it pained Dorian to see.

He found Tanicus sipping tea in the library, with the tang of lyrium heavy in the air around him.  “Dorian, good morning!  I understand you may have solved the first of many mysteries?”

“Possibly.  I just walked through countless magic mirrors, though.  Building one, while an interesting thought exercise, just hasn’t been anything I thought to do anytime soon.”

“You should be thanking me, then,” Tanicus told him.  “Tea?”  
“Not if it’s spiked with your special lyrium,” Dorian retorted.  He paced the library, brushing his fingers over the spines of the books.  “Tanicus,” he said suddenly, turning to face him.  “You once told me the Venatori were short-sighted.  What are _your_ long term plans?”

“A bit forward of you, don’t you think?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow.  “I’m fixing your eluvian and letting you take credit for it working.  I hardly think it’s too forward to ask what you plan to do with it.”

Tanicus set his reading glasses aside and closed his book.  “Do you know why mysteries frighten people, Dorian?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because we want answers, and if there are no answers, it’s terrifying.  But what if we didn’t strive to learn and know, and just accepted that there were things beyond our knowledge?  What if we exalted in mystery, rather than feared it?”  Tanicus stared at Dorian with wide, imploring dark eyes.  “Accepted it, rather than continually striving for solutions and answers?”

Dorian had to laugh.  “You do realize the irony of what you’re saying, yes?  The existence of the Old Gods in the Deep Roads? The Titan’s blood?  Repairing a damned eluvian?  You’ve done nothing  _ but _ try to solve mysteries since the start of all of this.”

Tanicus scowled.  “I admire your curiosity, Dorian, and I understand why you’re skeptical.  But you of all people shouldn’t be skeptical, after what you saw with your own eyes.”

“And I was skeptical of every bit of it  _ until _ I saw it with my own eyes,” Dorian countered.

“And even then, didn’t it make you  _ curious?” _ Tanicus asked.  “Trevelyan wielded magic never before seen, and he doesn’t have a lick of magic inside of him.  Weren’t you curious?  Weren’t you jealous?”

Theo and Dorian had spoken at length about Theo’s mark over the years.  “You’ve probably noticed that he only has one arm,” Dorian said at last.  He closed his eyes as the memories came back in a rush: watching Theo slowly slip into feverish insanity; the gleam of Bull’s axe in the pale sunlight; the animalistic howl of pain as Bull’s blade severed Theo’s arm, and the continued screams as Dorian cauterized the wound.  “If you saw exactly what that fucking mark did to him, as it was doing it, you wouldn’t be jealous.  You’d thank the Maker--or Razikale--that it wasn’t you.”  And feel guilty the entire time.

“Power comes at a price,” Tanicus replied, as if Dorian’s words had no meaning to him.

“I hope you’re ready to pay,” Dorian told him, but it wasn’t a challenge.  Dorian had dealt with ancient beings; he’d seen the prices they exacted.

“I hope you are too, if you can’t get that eluvian working.”  Tanicus went back to his papers and Dorian decided to head down to Celarea’s workshop.  No time to get started like the present, he decided.

Surprisingly, Celarea was not waiting at the end of the tunnel.  Her cracked eluvian stood on one wall, overlooking the workshop.  The bowl of glass dust sat on the stone slab, a bottle of liquid blue lyrium casting a faint light over it.  The dust shimmered in the light, and Dorian leaned against the edge of the slab and looked between the dust and the mirror.  In his experience, which was more extensive than most, eluvians caused nothing but trouble.

Finally he’d had enough sitting and staring, and was getting nowhere.  He headed back toward the tunnel, but paused.  He’d given little thought to the spiral staircase on the opposite side of the room, but he was rarely alone in here.  Now, either through complacency or sheer arrogance, Celarea and Tanicus were elsewhere.

Dorian always  _ had _ been curious, and it was one trait Tanicus admired, so he started up the spiral stairwell.

Each step he paused to feel around with his magic, expecting traps of some sort, but nothing happened.  As he reached the top he dipped into the Fade and found a spirit watching him.   _ Any chance you’d do me a favor? _ He inquired, leaning against the railing.  The spirit hovered for a moment before passing through him and blinking into reality.  It tilted its head back and floated up through the hole in the ceiling.  Dorian used tendrils of mana to feel it floating about, and then it came back.   _ All is well, _ it told him, and then dissipated back into the Fade.

He emerged in a room no larger than a closet; though if he was comparing it to  _ his _ closets, most rooms would be small.  Still, the dark and narrow room closed around him, and he called forth a small globe of light.  The room was even tinier than the private library in the basement of Skyhold, and not nearly as interesting.  While the shelves were free of cobwebs, they held little of interest: empty jars, dried up pots of glue, dusty wooden boxes.  He reached for the door, and his spirit friend winked into being before his eyes.   _ Let me? _ It asked, and Dorian nodded.  At this point, he couldn’t be too careful.

The spirit returned a favorable verdict and this time remained in the waking world as Dorian pushed the door open to see a long, dim hallway.  He could never match Theo for stealth, but he’d learned to keep his footfalls quieter, and he focused on each step as he headed down the corridor.

The hallway opened up into a room Dorian knew well: the lowest stacks of the Minrathous Circle library.  He laughed as he stood there in the center of the stacks with a spirit hovering around his shoulders.  Of  _ course _ Celarea would have her workspace beneath the Minrathous Circle.  The whole place was a temple devoted to her god.

Dorian’s heart jumped into his throat when he realized he had an opportunity to find Maevaris without having Tanicus hovering over his shoulder.   _ Follow me, _ he said to the spirit, who did as asked.  The spirit could alert him of any dangerous presences.  It seemed a decent enough sort.  

When Dorian reached the main floor he paused.  Normally he didn’t mind being noticeable, but it would be hard to explain where he was coming from.  On cue the spirit enveloped him; Dorian viewed the world through the spirit.  It was a bit like looking through a gauzy veil, but he found he could pass by people and not draw attention, and in this way made it from the Circle library over to the Magisterium.

Maevaris opened her office door and stared at Dorian quizzically for a moment.  “ _ Kaffas, _ ” he muttered, and bid the spirit to reveal him.  “Are you alone?” he asked her, peering around her into her office.  Mae didn’t answer, just grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into the office and slammed the door.

“Dorian, what’s going on?” she hissed.

He quickly wove a silencing spell and cast it on the door.  “I can’t stay long.  But Tanicus has an eluvian, and I’ve figured out how to repair it,” he said grimly.

He didn’t know what he expected from Mae, but laughter wasn’t it.  “You would, Dorian,” she said at last, shaking her head.  “Are you going to fix it?  Tell me you’re not going to fix it.”  She stared at him.  “ _ Vishante kaffas, _ Dorian!  You  _ are _ going to fix it!”

“I don’t see what other choice I have.”

“You could try not repairing it,” she suggested.  “Or pretending you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“That might have worked with someone like Catullus or Magnus.” He stared out her window and across the channel.  “Even if I did fix it there’s no guarantee that it will lead to Razikale’s front doorstep.”  He fiddled with a buckle on his clothing.  “And if it doesn’t lead where they want, what then?” he said quietly.

Mae pressed her lips into a thin line.  “I’m sorry, Dorian,” she said at last.  “What do you need from me?”

“Can you get Radonis to pass an emergency motion declaring Old God worship illegal?  Preferably punishable by death?” 

“Are you always this dramatic, Dorian?” she asked with a smile, because they both knew the answer to that.  “I suppose I could see what noise I could make.”

Dorian took his leave, and this time, rather than sneak back through the library and the tunnels, he crossed the bridge out of the center of Minrathous and walked back to the Thrassea estate.  Unsurprisingly, Tanicus was waiting for him in the foyer.  “I was about to send out a search party,” he said, and Dorian looked over his shoulder to see Theo standing in the foyer, checking a knife in one of his holsters; his expression was otherwise blank, even when he looked up and saw Dorian.

“Good thing I returned when I did,” he said in an even voice, entering and keeping an eye on Theo.  “I found it necessary to do a bit of research.”

“I see,” Tanicus said, relaxing and smiling, but he turned his eyes on Theo.  

Dorian traced a quick paralysis glyph and cast it on the floor before him.  As soon as Theo crossed the boundary of the glyph he stopped, frozen in time and space.   _ I’m sorry, _ Dorian thought, but it was the only thing he could do that wouldn’t harm him.  He turned to Tanicus.  “Would you like to take this to the dueling pits?” he asked, voice low.  “Or perhaps just have a go right here?”  He cast out his other hand and a force spell slammed into Tanicus.

Tanicus almost hit the far wall but stopped himself with a spell of his own.  He waved his hand and pain blossomed in Dorian’s skull, throbbing behind his eyes and at the base of his skull, so intense he couldn’t think straight.  His paralysis glyph broke and Theo knocked him down and held him there, one knee on his chest.  Dorian pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to will the pain away, but he couldn’t focus enough to use his mana.

The pressure on his chest let up and the pain subsided slightly.  Tanicus knelt next to him.  “I’d love to mind blast your brilliant brain into the Void and leave you a drooling, incoherent mess,” he said, his voice oddly pleasant.  “But I still need you to fix my wife’s mirror.  After that, though…”  He shrugged.

Dorian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which he let out slowly.  “Tanicus,” he said in a slightly shaky voice, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched Thrassea walk away.

“Yes?”

“Fuck you.”

It almost made the next mind blast worth it.

* * *

 

Somehow Dorian had made it up to his room, and he woke at dusk with Theo’s hand on his forehead.  “Hey,” Theo said softly.  He offered a half-smile.  “Are you alright?”

Dorian rubbed his temples.  He felt a bit groggy, but he’d definitely been worse, and it was true: Tanicus needed him.  “No worse for wear,” he said finally.  He explained to Theo where he’d gone, and most importantly, where Celarea’s workshop was located.  “It’s more of a shrine, really,” he mused.  “Given that she’s doing her Razikale worship right beneath the Minrathous Circle.”

“What do you think will happen when the star is in place?” Theo asked.

Dorian shrugged.  “Hard to say.  I’ve never been much for superstitions or signs in the stars.  It could be a total failure; then again, perhaps what happens in the heavens has bearing upon what happens down here.”

“The tides  _ are _ influenced by the moons,” Theo told him.  “Not that you’d care much; you’re probably seasick just thinking about that.”

“True.  I won’t look at the moons the same way again,” Dorian said, smiling.

“And while it was Celarea and Tanicus’s mining scheme that angered the Titan, it  _ was _ the Breach that actually woke it,” Theo told him.

“You’re saying the star overhead could be more than just an old crackpot prophecy?”

Theo kissed Dorian’s forehead.  “I’m saying that we’ve both seen too much to rule anything out.”


	49. Lightning Crashes

#  Chapter 49: Lightning Crashes

Theo bit his bottom lip and  _ willed _ Dorian’s magic to be stronger, but of course it did nothing.  His concern was as much for Dorian as for himself: he held a gleaming blade in his hand, the tip pressed against a gap between ribs.  Every breath he took, the honed point slowly jabbed into him, and droplets of blood already trickled and tickled down his torso from it.  Tanicus sat next to him, brow furrowed as he too looked on.  He held the small glass bottle of Theo’s blood in both hands, and Theo knew that it would only take a  _ thought _ and that knife would slide through his ribs and into his heart.

Dorian slumped and shook out his hands.  Thin tendrils of smoke curled from his fingertips, and the smell of ozone hung in the air of the cramped space.  Theo bit back a yelp as his hand twisted the knife into his ribs.  The sting made his eyes water.   _ I’ve had worse, I’ve had so.  Much.  Worse, _ he told himself, looking at the twisted scarring on his left elbow rather than at the knife.

“May I remind you just how crucial your success is with this venture?” Tanicus asked, holding the vial up to the light.  Theo clenched his jaw and sweated out another wave of stinging pain.

Dorian turned. He looked first at Theo, with such frustration and helplessness; that almost hurt worse than the physical pain.  “Mana isn’t infinite, even for a mage of my stature,” he said at last.

“Then do what you need to replenish it,” Tanicus snapped.

“By ingesting your special lyrium blend?  You insult me.”

“There are other ways.”  Tanicus casually waved his hand and suddenly Theo was walking toward Dorian and holding out the knife.  He wasn’t sure what was worse: the fuzzy-edged gaps in his memory when he acted without thinking, or walking toward Dorian, tempting him with blood magic, and fully conscious of every step he took.

Then he stood before Dorian, offering himself and his blood, voice caught in his throat.  He stared into Dorian’s tired grey eyes.  Dorian reached out and took the knife.  He stared at the bloody tip, and the drying blood on Theo’s torso.  He glanced back at the mirror and Theo held his breath.  

The knife clattered to the floor and Tanicus swore.

Theo let out his breath and nearly collapsed without Tanicus holding his strings like a puppet.

“Do you just need strong storm magic?” Theo asked after a moment of tense silence.  Both Tanicus and Dorian glared at him.  “If you need a stronger storm mage, I think I can help.”  He flicked his gaze to Dorian, who thought a moment and then nodded grimly.  

“It may not just be the best option at this point, but the only one,” he conceded.  

“You know a stronger elemental mage than Dorian?” Tanicus asked.  He sniffed.  “I find that hard to believe.”

“As do I, but stranger things have been known to happen,” Dorian said, smoothing the ends of his mustache.

Tanicus rose and walked over to the mirror.  Dorian’s magic was doing  _ something _ , but not quite enough; the lyrium-enhanced glass dust required even more power than Dorian could conjure at a time to solidify and repair the cracks, let alone the gaping space in the center.  “You’d have to let me go out for a bit,” Theo ventured, and Tanicus looked over his shoulder.  Theo stood his ground and met his eyes.  “Maranda’s not going to come back with me if you’re hovering over my shoulder,” he said.

“I’ll stay behind,” Dorian offered.  “Insurance,” he added quietly, and an emotional knife twisted into Theo’s guts.  He glaced at Dorian, who nodded.  “I could use some rest anyway after that,” Dorian said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

* * *

  
  


The next afternoon Theo knocked on Maevaris’s front door.  He glanced around nervously, and his left hand twitched even though it wasn’t there.  When the door opened he jumped.  A servant looked him up and down wordlessly, and nearly shut the door on him. “Wait!” He stuck his foot in the doorway.  “I’m Theo Trevelyan.  My sister is staying here.  Maranda?”  

The servant opened the door again and ushered him him.  “My apologies,” he said, even as he looked Theo over doubtfully.

Theo stared at the floor.  “I can wait here,” he offered.  He looked down at himself: the blood had cleaned up, but he probably looked frightful anyway.  He didn’t blame anyone for being wary of him right now.

“You will do no such thing,” Maevaris stated as she entered her foyer.  “Please, come in.  Are you alright?  What do you need?”  She fussed over Theo, hands on his shoulders and looking him over with a critical eye.  “Where’s Dorian?”

Theo followed her into the sitting room.  Maranda sat across from Cardenio, a chessboard on the low table between them.  She gasped and jumped up, knocking the pieces over and stumbling against the table before she bowled into Theo, arms locked around him.  “Andraste’s arse, Theo,” she said, holding her brother tight.  “Are you okay?  What’s going on?”

“Nothing good,” Theo told her.  “And… I may actually need your help,” he said and pulled away.

Mae called for refreshments to be brought, then sat down on a chaise while Theo explained what Dorian was trying to do.  “You’re my brother, and I love you and want to help you,” Maranda said after a moment of thought.  “And I’m sorry I have to ask you this.  But how do I know that it’s really you, and not the… well…”

“Mindless thrall?” Theo asked in a flat voice.  He looked down at his forearm.  The lines had purposefully been cut to scar over.  Like Dorian said, it was more than just bloodletting, it was ritualistic.  “I’m not sure if I  _ can _ convince you of that,” he finally said.  “I can, however, assure you that I remember walking here.  I remember the Storm Coast.  I remember Kirkwall and Ostwick before that.”

Cardenio watched him closely, and then nodded.  “I believe him,” he said.  “I fought the blood-thrall version of him that time; there was nothing there.  Here… there is something.”

“Thank the Maker?” Theo asked with a slight smile.

“Eventually,” Cardenio replied, resetting the chessboard before leaning back in his chair again.  “I don’t like the idea of you walking into that viper’s den,  _ cara, _ ” he told Maranda.  “Is there anything we can do?” he asked Maevaris.

“Radonis is aware of what Tanicus wants to do, but I don’t know that he really believes it.  If I could find a way to get an emergency audience with him, maybe he would move against Tanicus.”

“You can tell Radonis, but you could also tell your Divine,” Cardenio suggested.  “You talk with Radonis, let me handle the Imperial Chantry,” he said, eyes shining.  “I spent much time as a Chanter, including the so called Dissonant Verses that are taught here.  If Radonis can’t do anything, perhaps the Chantry will.”

Mae grinned.  “I have to admit, it would be nice to see them put to use.  And really, it could work; they would be thrilled to finally be relevant.”

The servants arrived with light drinks and snacks, but Theo wasn’t hungry in spite of the gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

“I can’t believe I used to want to live here,” Theo told his sister as they walked across Minrathous, headed for the bridge.  “I guess the way Dorian used to talk about it, about what an amazing place it is, and the look he would get on his face… I romanticized it.”

“It really isn’t that bad,” Maranda began, and Theo turned to stare at her.  “If you’re a mage,” she finished.  “I’m an outsider, but because I’m a mage no one really questions it.  I can see how it’s harder for you though.”

“Do you think Cardenio can get in with the Chantry?” Theo asked as they passed the tall, solemn edifice.

“I think it was a good idea,” Maranda said carefully.  “I think we’re all improvising at this point, and hoping for the best.”

Theo nodded as they started across the bridge.  “Thanks for coming, Maranda,” he said at last.  “I know it’s dangerous.”

She reached out and took his hand.  “It is, but if we don’t put an end to this, what else could happen?”

 

* * *

 

Maranda had been in the Thrassea estate once before, and now she found it quieter and more ominous without a crowd of revelers filling the great room.  Dorian greeted her and Theo when they arrived, and then fussed over Theo who assured Dorian he was fine.  “Any word?” Dorian asked, leading her down a hall and toward another staircase.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” Maranda told him, and he nodded once.  She followed him down into the basement and he called up a magelight to guide them through the tunnel.  “Wait, are we really going backward?” she asked suddenly.  “We just came from the city!”

Dorian sighed.  “These world-domination types aren’t big on being practical,” he told her.  “You should have seen the things Corypheus did.  Visually stunning, but in the grand scheme of things, completely impractical.”

“And Dorian knows all about style,” Theo piped up, trailing behind them.  

Maranda managed to smile, but every nerve vibrated within her; her mana swelled inside of her.  She knew there were places of power scattered throughout Thedas, and it made sense that one would be here in Minrathous, the oldest city in all of Thedas.  The nearer she got to it, the more power she felt pressing on her until it felt like walking against a current in a river.  It reminded her of setting foot into the deep lyrium mines beneath the Deep Roads.

Once they came out in the room, Dorian led her to the eluvian.  Tanicus already waited for them, and he broke into a grin.  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come. Welcome, Lady Trevelyan.  Your brother speaks well of your skill.”

She shrugged.  “Just show me what you need,” she said, addressing the statement to Dorian. She glanced back at Theo and then gasped when she saw him drawing a sharp blade and positioning it over his own throat.  His green eyes were wide and he clenched his jaw while the blade rested against his neck.  Maranda flicked her gaze over to Tanicus, and saw him twisting a silver filigree-wrapped glass vial in his fingers.  There was a heavy tang of magic in the air, but she sensed the feeling of blood above all.  The vial was filled with Theo’s blood.

Maranda had to bite back her excitement for the moment, and focus on what Dorian needed from her.  He explained the glass dust, mixed with pure deep lyrium, and she held her hand over the container.  There was magic in the glass itself, and she was impressed that he’d thought of this solution.  They mixed more glass dust and lyrium, and filled in the cracks and the fist-sized gap where the eluvian glass had fallen away.

“Ready?” Dorian asked her, and Maranda nodded.  She’d brought Wind Waker, the staff Maevaris had gifted her.  While Maranda didn’t need a staff to wield her lightning, a staff, particularly one so powerful as this one, focused her strength and power.

Maranda called up her mana.  She reached for the Fade and let it embrace her, let the mana fill her, until her skin was little more than a barrier thin as peachskin between the sense of magic in and all around her.  

The eluvian shone as a bright beacon of magic in her half-in, half-out of the Fade state.  She curled her fingers around the staff.  Currents of magic, as tingly as lightning itself, ran through the staff, and she focused the crystal toward the mirror and let herself go.

Electric violet-white light filled the small room as Maranda let the power flow through her, focused and intense, in a way she’d never been able to, or even allowed to, before.  The feeling of so much magic intoxicated her, and the more lightning she focused toward the eluvian, the brighter it shone.

At last her own innate mana began to ebb, and she reluctantly pulled back on the staff and reeled in her power.  The Fade dissipated, leaving her in solid reality.  She clutched the staff for support as her heart pounded and her legs trembled.  She looked over to find Dorian watching her, his hair sticking up in places from the electric charge still in the room.  “Did I do it?” she asked breathlessly.

Tanicus approached the mirror.  The soft light of the eluvian reflected in his eyes.  “It’s… beautiful,” he said.  “I didn’t know it would be  _ so _ beautiful.”

“It is.  Until you step through it and find what’s waiting on the other side.”  Theo still held the knife at his own throat.  A thin line of blood showed where the blade had lightly dug in.

“You were unprepared for such mysteries,” Tanicus said, sticking the vial of blood in his pocket.  Theo dropped the knife and it clattered to the floor.

Tanicus fussed over his eluvian, and Maranda went to her brother.  “Let me,” she said, and though she’d spent most of her mana, she had enough left to cast a light healing spell.  “That vial,” she whispered.  “Is that what he’s using to control you?”

Theo nodded.  “His wife has one too.  Do you know what it is?”

Maranda rolled up her sleeve to show him a pale, nearly invisible scar in the crook of her elbow.  “Only because I had one too.  It’s a phylactery.  If we destroy them, we can destroy their hold over you.”

Theo surprised her by throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a tight hug.  “I am so damned glad you’re my sister,” he muttered.

She squeezed his shoulder.  “I just fixed the thing.  We don’t even know if it will work, so don’t thank me yet.”

Theo rubbed his neck and stared at the knife on the floor.  “Good point.”

Maranda was certain that Tanicus would not let her return to Minrathous with all she now knew, but he bid her a cheerful farewell.  “The more people hear about this, the better,” he told her when she stared at him suspiciously.  “There may even be a place for you as a priestess of Razikale,” he offered.

She shook her head.  “I don’t think the Maker would like that very much.”

He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away.  “What has the Maker ever done for you?  Or his bride?  They proclaimed your very being an anathema.  They decided you should be locked away and that your talents should languish.  Just think about it.”

The worst part was, she did.  She took a carriage back to Maevaris’s and still sensed the tingling in her hands as the clouds pressed down.  A storm wasn’t imminent, but she could easily call one.  She’d lived her life thinking she was dangerous.  Here, she wouldn’t be…

No, Maranda decided.  She  _ was _ dangerous.  The moment she gave into arrogance and believed she was no danger, was the moment she gave into temptation.  She was dangerous, but she just needed to balance herself between the stifling Circle rules and the wild freedom that came from embracing the storm.

Besides, she now had bigger problems aside from her own power: how to destroy Theo’s phylacteries, and how to deal with an Old God who was likely going to be cantankerous after being woken from her ages of slumber.


	50. Razikale Rising

#  Chapter 50: Razikale Rising

Dorian didn’t consider a library much of a party space, but there were other Magisters out there known to host parties in far stranger locales, each trying to outdo the other.  Here they stood in the top floor observatory of the Minrathous Circle library at sunset on a clear night: all the better to see the stars.

Tanicus’s slaves had hauled the eluvian up into the observatory the other day, and somehow Tanicus had managed to get the top floor cordoned off, assuring the enchanters that it would only be for the day.  Dorian did wonder how much booking a soiree at the Circle would cost, but if Tanicus and Celarea were successful, there wouldn’t  _ be _ a Circle to worry about.  They’d spend their days worshiping a dragon.  He didn’t consider himself particularly religious, but there were some things Dorian preferred to leave to the imagination.

“Are you expecting a large turn out?” Dorian asked Tanicus.  He waved down a slave with a tray of wine glasses and took two.   He handed one to Theo, standing a few steps behind him, and sipped at his own glass.

“This celebration isn’t about whether people turn up or not, though I’m sure I’ll draw the curious crowd,” Tanicus said, staring at his eluvian.  “It’s a festival to welcome Razikale into her rightful place.”

Dorian nodded, and then turned away and headed for a chair in the corner.  Theo joined him.  “Is this the part where we spring our brilliant plan?” Theo asked.

“If we had one, I’d say yes.”  Dorian moodily twirled his wine glass and sighed.  “Maranda and Maevaris are doing what they can, I know,” he said at last.  “It’s absolutely maddening not knowing just what they’re accomplishing… or not.”  He wanted to run his hand through his hair, but he didn’t want to muss up his hairstyle.

“Whatever happens I have to get my hand on those vials,” Theo murmured.  He stared at Tanicus, whispering to Celarea next to the eluvian.  Both were dressed in deep, night-blue silk robes with silver accents, and Theo’s phylacteries dangled from their silver belts.  Theo’s clothing was short-sleeved, showing off both his scarred left arm and the deep red cuts carved into his right arm.

“That’s high on my list of priorities,  _ Amatus,” _ Dorian reassured him.  He leaned in and gave Theo a kiss.  

He heard footsteps coming up the steps and rose to his feet.  Even if he was here under duress, he was going to look damned good.  But he didn’t expect to be face to face with the Imperial Divine as the first guest.  Urian Nihalias swept into the observatory, his heavy black brocade robes dragging along the floor. His deep maroon headdress towered over everyone else present.  “Magister Tanicus Thrassea,” he began.  He pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose in disgust.  

“Your Reverence.  Thank you for joining us,” Tanicus said with a low bow.  

The Imperial Divine looked around the observatory, eyes lingering on the eluvian.  “And Magister Dorian Pavus.  Of course you’d be involved.”  He sniffed.

“I’d like to take the opportunity to note that I’m here under duress,” Dorian said pleasantly without daring a glance at Tanicus.  “While I’ve never been particularly religious, Old God worship is not something I’ve ever considered.”

“Is this what’s happening?  Blasphemy.”  The Divine shook his head.

Darkness crept into the sky as the sun set, and more footsteps sounded upon the stairs.  Dorian recognized some of the attendees from other Tanicus parties and the lectures Tacitus gave, and then he saw Tacitus himself breathlessly hauling himself up the stairs.  “Tanicus, my son--” he began and cut off when he spotted the Divine standing there, his presence alone nearly filling the observatory. Tacitus bowed his head.  “I’ve come too late.”

Tanicus smiled, a warm, fond smile that should have been reassuring, but made Dorian’s skin crawl.  He pushed past the Divine as if Urian Nihalias were just another Magister come to take in the spectacle, and draped his arm around his father’s shoulder.  “No, it is well that the Imperial Divine has seen fit to join us.”  He turned to look at Dorian and Theo.  “And if I’m not mistaken, Magister Tilani and your sister have probably attempted to convince Archon Radonis to attend, even though I personally sent him an invitation.”

A robed acolyte stepped forward.  “Should glory come at such a price?” the acolyte recited.  “What reward can be worth this?  If mortals were meant to stand among the gods, would the gods not open their gates to us?”  He bowed his head.  The Divine waved his hand over the acolyte, blessing him in Tevene.  The acolyte glanced at Dorian and winked.  Cardenio fit in seamlessly with the others who’d accompanied the Divine.

The Divine’s tirade was something to behold, and Dorian wondered if his regular sermons were so charged; if so, it could make for interesting Chantry going, religious or not.  “Have you learned  _ nothing _ from the Chant?” he finally finished, his face nearly as red as the accents on his vestments.

“Only that the Chantry uses it to instill fear in its members, holding us back from true greatness.”  Tanicus turned his eyes skyward.  Stars winked into being, bright white against the moonless velvety blue sky.  He then faced those gathered before him.  “Welcome,” he said cordially.  “Welcome to the dawn of a new day.”  Celarea stood to his right, and Tacitus to his left.  Slaves brought forth crates of bright blue lyrium and opened them.  The tang of it was enough to make Dorian giddy.

Tacitus brought forward a chalice and brandished a knife at the first slave.

“Maleficar!  Seize them,” the Divine shouted, and started to conjure a glyph.

Tanicus grabbed the phylactery at his side and turned his dark eyes on Theo.  Theo drew a knife and dove at the Divine, but Cardenio shed his heavy acolyte robe to reveal his holsters.  He pulled out a knife of his own and intercepted Theo’s charge, shoving Urian Nihalias out of the way.  The Divine fell into a shelf, and while his headdress provided some protection, he caught his forehead on the edge.

Celarea stepped forward and took the chalice and sacrificial knife from her father-in-law, who called forth a glimmering barrier spell that surrounded all of them.  Dorian hit the barrier with a focused lightning spell, but nothing happened.   _ Any assistance would be appreciated,  _ he thought, dipping into the Fade as much as he dared.  Several deep violet spirits materialized and slammed into the barrier.  They had some luck, but Dorian watched helplessly as Celarea slit her slaves’ throats and filled the chalice with blood.  She reached for another chalice and kept going down the line.

Dorian recalled, from his history and his Chantry lessons as a boy, that it had taken the blood of one hundred slaves to breach the Golden City; there were maybe a couple dozen people here now, but many of them were exceedingly powerful.  If the Thrasseas managed to bleed all of them in addition to their slaves…

“Dorian!” Maevaris yelled, running into the room with Maranda at her heels.  “The Archon is on his way.  But… you know.”

“The headpiece?” Dorian asked and Mae nodded.  “Focus on that barrier.  We have to stop the Thrasseas.”

The mirror came to life just then, illuminating the room with brilliant blue-white light.  Dorian squinted and shielded his eyes.  Tanicus raised his eyes.  “And now the final sacrifice,” he announced.  He took the knife from Celarea’s hand and wiped it on a dark kerchief.  He looked at his father.

The bright light of the eluvian cast strange shadows and made the crags of Tacitus’s face appear even deeper.  “Tanicus?” he whispered, eyes widening as realization set in.  He reached out but the barrier held, trapping him with his son and daughter-in-law.  

“Razikale demands it.” Tanicus got behind his father and without hesitation dragged the blade across his throat.  Celarea collected the blood in another chalice.  She lined the three goblets of blood up in front of the eluvian and knelt before them.  Tanicus wiped off his hands and without a backward look at his dead father filled smaller goblets with the lyrium and set them out in the position of the stars that made up Eluvia, with his wife sitting in the center where Celares shone.

The mirror went dark.  Tanicus handed her a book: the single copy of the  _ Pensa Sapientiae _ from their library.  Celarea opened the book and stared into it, her lips moving, but no words coming out.  Two knives rang against one another, then one fell to the floor.  Cardenio had Theo in a hold on the floor, his arm twisted up behind him.

The room filled with a sense of heavy, mysterious silence.  Dorian had a feeling of waiting, but not sure for what.  The barrier faded away, and Celarea began to sing: wordless, but high and clear and haunting, a call unlike anything Dorian had heard before.  Suddenly he began to understand the Calling of the Wardens, and the song of the deep lyrium so many felt when they descended into the Deep.  He understood the temptation of the ancient Sidereal.  He felt the weight of mystery upon him, and it was terrifying.

“You don’t know what you do,” the Divine said, struggling to his feet.  Blood trickled from his head wound, and his pale eyes took in the dark eluvian and glowing lyrium with growing apprehension.

“We welcome Razikale, the Old God of mysteries, to rule over us,” Tanicus said.  He stepped in front of his wife and held his arms open wide in front of the mirror.

A bolt of lightning seared through the air and slammed into Tanicus’s back.  He stumbled forward, arms out to catch himself on the edge of the mirror, and for a moment his head entered the eluvian.  Maranda dropped her staff and lunged forward, knocking over the cups of lyrium and blood.  She reached out and snagged the vial of Theo’s blood from Tanicus’s belt just as he pulled back into the observatory.  “Idiot girl,” he snarled, and wheeled around, hands glowing with magic.  He used a force spell to throw her across the room.  Maranda hit the shelves next to Urian Nihalias and grunted when she collapsed.  Her grip on the phylactery loosened.

Dorian and Maevaris dashed to her side.  Maranda looked up at Dorian with dazed green eyes.  “Be fine,” she mumbled.  “Just… need a minute.  Take…”  Her gaze unfocused and she furrowed her brow.

“Mind blast,” Maevaris said after holding her hand over Maranda’s forehead.  “She should be fine, she’s just a bit dazed.”  Mae’s hand glowed soft blue and she laid it on Maranda’s forehead.  Dorian grabbed the vial of blood, stood, and hurled it at the floor.  The glass broke apart, and he ground the heel of his boot into the stones.

Not far away, Theo stopped snarling and went limp for a moment, and then he focused and winced when Cardenio held his arm.  “Dor?” he asked in a tight voice, trying to see Dorian from where Cardenio held him.  “Cardenio?  Get off,” he snapped.

Cardenio rolled off of Theo and helped him to his feet.  “Thanks for not breaking it,” Theo grumbled.  “I only have the one.”  He turned to see Dorian.  “Did I kill anyone?”

“Almost, but only almost,” Dorian said.  “Would you  _ like _ to kill someone?”  He angled his head toward Tanicus, and Theo grabbed his knife from the floor.

Tanicus’s eyes, normally so liquid dark, blazed bright lyrium blue.  He threw his head back as his wife sang her haunting song from the book.  Dorian tried to block out her voice; the mysterious beauty of it sent tingling chills up his spine.  Then his ears felt stopped up, as if with cotton, muffling the siren song of Celarea’s voice.  When Dorian paused to prod about magically he felt the presence of Fade spirits around him.

The others in the room has paused to listen to Celarea’s song.  She got to her feet and her voice crescendoed, resonating off the glass.  Outside, the stars shone brighter than usual and only when Dorian paused to survey her stance, did he realize she had positioned herself in the center of the spilled goblets: right where the star Celares would be.  Right where the star Celares stared down from on high.

Tanicus flung his hand out toward Dorian, who ducked to avoid the stream of white-hot magic that shot toward him.  He couldn’t even tell what form of magic it  _ was _ .  He lashed out with his hand, firing off a lightning bolt and diving out of the way when Tanicus reflected it back onto him.

“Any help will be useful,” Dorian called out, ducking behind a chair that burst into flame when another super-heated bolt of magic came flying his way.  No one heard him, each person, even the Imperial Divine, too dazed by the song. Dorian cast a repulsion glyph on the floor around him and stood in the center of it while Tanicus flung another spell his way.  Dorian stood his ground, though he felt the heat of the bolt through his glyph.  It was strong, and though his glyph held, it wouldn’t do so forever.

Then Theo was at his side, sliding through the shimmering walls of the spell.  “We’re not going to get close enough to do anything,” he said.

“While I appreciate your attempt to help, I have to confess I’m curious why you’re not slack-jawed at this moment,” Dorian said, casting a static cage over Tanicus, if just to keep him busy.

Theo looked around.  “Cardenio and I are the only non-mages in here.  For once it’s helpful in these parts,” he said ruefully.  “Pity that this was how we had to figure it out.”

Dorian’s glyph wavered and faded away.  He grabbed Theo by the wrist and pulled him to the floor as a bolt of plasma passed overhead.  He smelled burning hair and lamented what he was going to look like when this was over.  “Celarea still has your other phylactery,” he told Theo.  He rolled out of the way of another blast.  “We can’t get in close enough,” he grumbled.

“We can’t.  But your friends can,” Theo told him.  

Theo had once teased Dorian about his spirits being his friends.  While Dorian didn’t have the same companionship with spirits that Solas had boasted of during the Inquisition, he did share a unique relationship with them.  He had always treated them with respect, and in return they aided him when he called.

The line between reality and the Fade blurred even further, and he called to the spirits of death and darkness, grief and sadness and set them all on Tanicus.  Fear and terror surrounded him.  The wild bolts stopped flying.  Tanicus grinned, a faint outline surrounded by all the spirits.  His unnaturally bright eyes shone with madness.  “Do you feel her?” he cried out, throwing back his head and laughing.

“Do you?” Dorian asked. He gathered up all his power and concentrated it onto Tanicus as the spirits swarmed around him.  He pushed out with both hands.  Nothing burst from his palms, and Tanicus’s smile spread.

“Accept the mystery for what it is,” he told Dorian, spreading his arms wide.

Theo ran in at full speed, dipping his right shoulder and slamming into Tanicus.  He stumbled back, one foot going through the eluvian.  Tanicus grinned for one second before his face went slack with fear.  He tried to pull himself out using the sides of the mirror but something pulled at him from the darkness within the eluvian.  Before he could start to scream for help Dorian snapped his fingers.

The walking bomb spell triggered as whatever lay in wait in the darkness pulled him through.  

What was left of Tanicus Thrassea splattered all over Celarea, whose song died off when she focused and found pieces of her husband scattered on and around her.  She did not scream, merely turned toward Theo and Dorian.  Her hand went for the phylactery.

Theo tackled her to the ground, scrabbling to get the bottle of his blood away from her as she clawed and spat at him.  He closed his hand around the bottle as she blasted him off of her with a burst of force.  He slid across the stone floor and lay still for a moment, then pushed himself up.  Blood dripped from his mouth and he grinned.  He dropped the vial onto the stone floor and it cracked open.

Celarea shrieked and lunged at Theo, but a blast of lightning hit her square in the chest and she stumbled back.  Maranda stalked forward, palms crackling with energy.  Celarea flung her hands at the glass ceiling.  Long cracks appeared, almost forming lines between the stars in a constellation.  

She gathered her power and pushed at the ceiling again, and it exploded in a shower of glass.  Instantly a dozen protective barrier spells came up, while several mages made for the stairwell only to be stopped by a contingent of Imperial Templars.  Dorian cast a shield over himself and Theo.  Cardenio sheltered with Maevaris, and Maranda kept advancing toward Celarea, firing bolt upon bolt of lightning at her.

“I’m going to do something stupid,” Theo told Dorian, looking between Celarea and his sister.

“Such as?” Dorian asked, but he didn’t expect just  _ how _ stupid Theo would be.  Theo dashed out into the shower of glass and dust, shielding his face the best he could, and grabbed Maranda’s staff.  Celarea countered Maranda’s magical hits.  Theo sidled up next to his sister and handed her the staff, only to get hit with a bolt of Celarea’s magic.

Dorian dashed to his side.  Theo was breathing, but stunned.

Maranda held out her staff toward Celarea, who held her arms aloft, gathering power from the eluvian and the heavens.  Maranda pulled back and slammed the head of her staff into Celarea’s gut and shoved her through the eluvian.  Her pale hand disappeared into the darkness.  “Mae!  Cardenio!” she called breathlessly.  “Knock over the rest of the goblets.  Dorian, help me hit this thing as hard as we can.”

Dorian left a barrier in place around Theo, and then joined Maranda in hitting the eluvian with as much magical force as he could muster.  Maevaris joined in.  Then the Divine was at their side, casting into the mirror.  Dorian felt the high pitch of the eluvian resisting, and then a final spell joined their combined magic and the eluvian exploded.

“The librarians,” Archon Radonis began, surveying the ruined observatory, “Are not going to be happy.”


	51. No Country for Soporati

#  Chapter 51: No Country for Soporati

Waking up in Dorian’s arms never got old, and waking up in Dorian’s arms, in Dorian’s apartment, knowing that for now they were safe, gave Theo peace of mind that he’d thought lost.  Now, in the warm golden dawn light, he rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder and stared at his face.  Sunlight, he decided, truly did Dorian justice.  While the darkness and cool moon and starlight suited Dorian well enough, the warmth and brightness of the sun brought out everything that made him  _ Dorian. _

He closed his eyes and listened to Dorian’s even breathing, but he couldn’t get back to sleep.  Too many thoughts raced through his mind, vying for attention, but never staying put long enough for him to focus on.  Frustrating, yes, but Dorian assured him that they’d assess and undo the damage the Thrasseas’ controlling spells may have done to his mind.  Theo had little choice but to trust Dorian and Maevaris, who were both searching out specialists.

Theo slipped out of bed and headed to the study, where he settled at the writing desk and finally began writing the letter he’d been trying to compose in his jumbled mind since Dorian had first suggested an Antivan holiday for the both of them.  He first jotted down his thoughts, then put them into a letter form.  He sighed.  Maybe someday he’d get his head on straight again.  He glanced down at his left arm.  The deepest wounds took the most time to heal.

He crumpled up his outline and tossed it in the fireplace, then sealed up his letter and left it in a basket by the door for Gavia or another servant to take out.  He hoped they’d take it before he lost his nerve and took it back.  He hadn’t told Dorian his idea yet.  He wasn’t sure if he could, so soon after everything they’d gone through together.

“ _ Amatus?” _ Dorian asked softly, padding into the sitting room.  His black silk dressing gown hung open over his bare torso and smallclothes and Theo stared, taking in Dorian’s easy grace and beauty.  His hair was messy from the pillows, and his complete unawareness of just how tantalizing he looked nearly took Theo’s breath away.

Theo blinked.  “Sorry, I couldn’t get back to sleep.  There’s just a lot on my mind.”

Dorian rested his hands on Theo’s shoulders.  Theo instinctively tensed up, but relaxed after Dorian started rubbing his neck and shoulders, pulsing the slightest bit of heating magic into his muscles.  “You need not be nervous.  Anyone would know that you were under the control of blood magic, and not acting of your own volition.”

Theo tried hard not to melt under Dorian’s practiced touch.  “If Cardenio hadn’t tackled me, and if Maranda hadn’t gotten that phylactery, I’d have killed a second Divine in my life.”

Dorian lightly swatted the back of his head.  “You didn’t kill Justinia to begin with, and we averted the death of the Imperial Divine as well.  Today’s inquest is merely a formality.”

“You’re awfully calm about it.”

Dorian wrapped his arms around Theo and pulled him close.  He rested his chin on Theo’s shoulder.  “I don’t regret what I did, and will continue to maintain that I was acting under duress.”

“You only did it because of me.”  Theo bit his bottom lip and stared at the floor. He’d often been teased by Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, Cassandra, the Iron Bull, Varric… and especially Dorian about his guilt complex.  But now the guilt chewed at his guts and even though Dorian held him close and nuzzled his ear with his tickling mustache, Theo couldn’t shake the feeling.  “You came home to find your father’s murderer and to make Minrathous a better place, and look what I dragged you into.”

“And if you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have been dragged into it, and maybe Tanicus would have found a way to fix the eluvian on his own, and maybe he would have succeeded.  Then where would we be?  If you think  _ I’m _ beastly after being woken up unexpectedly, I can’t imagine Razikale.”  Theo felt him smile.  He tried to smile as well. 

He turned around and buried his face into Dorian’s neck.  “Dor… I know you love it here, but I don’t know that this is the right place for me.”

Dorian kissed the top of his head.  “Let’s get through today, and then we’ll discuss it.”

* * *

The only soporati who ever entered the senate chambers of the Magisterium were elected Publicans, and Imperial Templars.  And now Theo, who was neither, followed Dorian and Maevaris, with Maranda beside him.  Any other time he would have stared and gawked at the massive, cavernous chamber, but now they all trooped down to rows near the floor and took seats.

“Nervous?” he asked Maranda, rather than think about the hundreds of eyes focused on him.  He’d been used to that at one point in his life; but now he felt like a very different person.  

“Some, yes,” she murmured back.  “I threw up breakfast this morning,” she confessed.

“At least you tried eating,” Theo said with a shrug.

The wide doors clanged open and Archon Radonis entered, followed by the Imperial Divine.  Theo couldn’t help but notice that the Divine’s headdress wasn’t  _ quite _ as tall or elaborate at the Archon’s, and his nerves caused him to find this quite humorous.

At last the two came to the center of the room.  The Divine stepped forward first.  “There is much wisdom contained in the Chant.  The Canticle of Threnodies teaches ‘those who had been cast down, the demons who would be gods, began to whisper to men from their tombs within the earth.  The men of Tevinter heard and raised altars to the pretender-gods once more, and in return were given, in hushed whispers, the secrets of darkest magic.’  Having seen with my own eyes what Tanicus Thrassea attempted, I publicly condemn him, his father the former Enchanter Tacitus Thrassea, and Celarea Coventinas Thrassea as Maleficar.”  He snarled the word as if it were a personal affront.

He paused and let the whispers of gossip ripple through the room.  “In the absence of light, shadows thrive.  The word of the maker.   _ Na via lerno victorium.” _  He bowed and must have used magic to keep from toppling over before rising up and taking a seat behind the Archon.

Radonis stepped forward.  “The names of House Thrassea and House Coventinas are hereby struck from the records of names, as houses of Maleficar who would have seen the Imperium burn,” he announced.  “The Thrassea seat in the Magisterium is now open for a new house.”  He looked around, daring anyone to question his decrees.  “Through the use of blood magic they would have seen the Divine murdered.”  Theo held his breath here; he wished he still had the Anchor in his left hand so he could open a Fade rift and escape from this room.  “The actions of Inquisitor Theodane Trevelyan are officially pardoned as being the results of blood magic.”

Now the chatter began in earnest, and Theo could tell they were looking at him in a different way.  Before, he’d been nobody.  But once Radonis announced his name, he was someone.  In a way, he preferred the former.  It was strange, as he’d spent most of his life resenting the circumstances that made him a nobody.  Now, he would give anything to escape back to the anonymity of the streets.

“So too do I pardon the late Hector Aureos, who fell victim to the schemes of Tanicus Thrassea, and was never a deserter.  May the Aureos house prosper, and may they accept my condolences,” he said, fixing his eyes on Lucrezia, sitting further up in the Lucerni’s usual spot.

Lucrezia rose and bowed.  “My family thanks you, Archon,” she said a bit stiffly, but Theo supposed she felt awkward put on the spot like that, and was likely overwhelmed with emotion thinking about her brother.

Radonis gave a few parting words and hints about forthcoming legislation to consider, but Theo had tuned out.  He’d had enough of politics a long time ago, and besides, this wasn’t his country, and it certainly wasn’t his fight.  Dorian had told him once, during the Inquisition, that he feared the Inquisitor in Minrathous.  “You’d come to support me, and end up running everything,” Dorian had teased, but with the slightest bite to his tone that let Theo know his fears were real.  He had come to support Dorian, and had ended up nearly  _ ruining _ everything instead, regardless of what Dorian said to assuage his insecurities.

Tevinter was the land of magic.  It always had been.  It was no country for soporati, even if they outnumbered the mages.  After what Theo had seen, he didn’t think he could stay here.  And now he had to figure out how to tell Dorian that, after they’d promised never to say goodbye again.

* * *

 

“I’ll send word when I plan to return, and that will give you plenty of time to fuss,” Dorian told Gavia a couple of days later as he and Theo finished packing.  “Take a holiday of your own,” he suggested.  “Do you have everything?  Should I call the carriage now?” he asked.

Theo nodded.  “I didn’t exactly have much when I got here, and I’ve been sharing your clothes lately.  Since you have so many,” he added with a grin.

“Tevinter style  _ is _ lovely on you,” Dorian said, reaching over to tuck a loose lock of hair behind Theo’s ear.  “You’re certain you won’t try the kohl around your eyes?”

Theo snorted.  “Eyeliner?  Please, Dorian.  You’re lucky I shave relatively regularly.”

“It does help with the brightness of the sun,” Dorian pointed out, but he was pouting.  “Of which there should be plenty when we reach Antiva.  Speaking of which, when did your sister head out?”

“She and Cardenio left yesterday.  They’re sailing the whole way though.  Hence why we didn’t go with them,” Theo teased.

Dorian wrinkled his nose.  “Yes, the Nocen Sea crossing will be miserable enough, I daresay.”

“For you, or for me?”  Theo ducked as Dorian fired a tiny lightning bolt his way.

“You’re lucky I put up with you,” Dorian huffed.  Theo grabbed his wrist and pulled him down onto the bed.  

“I’m glad you do,” Theo told him.  “I love you, Dor.”

Dorian stared into his eyes.  “I love you as well,  _ Amatus _ .  But do try to sound more cheerful when you say it?  You make it sound like it’s goodbye.”

Theo shook his head and leaned in to kiss him.  Dorian’s lips were warm and sweet and his breath tickled.  “I promise, I’ll never say goodbye again.”

“Neither will I,  _ Amatus.” _

When they’d boarded their ferry out of Minrathous Theo went to stand up on the deck and watch the city disappear over the horizon.  Minrathous was behind him, and a long, well-deserved Antivan holiday before him.  And most importantly, a handsome and loving husband waiting below decks.  Theo turned his back on the speck of the city on the horizon, and headed down into the cabins in the hold, into Dorian’s waiting arms.

 


	52. An Overdue Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Epilogue: Antivan Holiday_

#  Chapter 52: An Overdue Honeymoon

“I’m not going out like this.  I look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously attractive.”

Theo moved to wipe his eyes and Dorian caught his wrist.  “Come on, Dor. I look like… like a raccoon or something.”

“Are you saying I look like a raccoon as well?” Dorian asked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow.  “Because I’ll have you know I’m nothing like those little beasts.  And neither are you.  Come,  _ Amatus _ , we had a reservation.  We don’t want to be late.”

Theo sighed, resigned, and let Dorian help him pull his hair back and away from his face, showing off his darkly lined eyes all the more.  But as this wasn’t a battle he was likely to win, he gave in and followed Dorian out into the early evening.  Their hotel overlooked the jewel-green waters of Rialto Bay, and the sunset streaked the sky with vibrant pink and orange.  Most of the outdoor dockside dining establishments were already bustling, serving up the day’s catch, and the smells of fresh food cooking wafted out as they walked along the dock.

Dorian laced his fingers with Theo’s.  “See?  No one’s looking at your eyes.”

“I still feel silly,” Theo teased, but he did feel better now that he was out and about.

They’d been in Antiva City for nearly a fortnight, after almost another fortnight of travel from the port in Carastes.  For the first time in years Theo had a sense of contentment in him.  When he woke in the morning the sunrise over the bay shone into their room.  When he walked along the docks or toured the countryside with Dorian, they didn’t fear cultists or assassins.  For the first time in years Theo thought that maybe this was what a normal life felt like.

He liked it.  A lot.

Here in Antiva City, he and Dorian were just two men out for dinner: not a Magister, not the former Inquisitor.  Theo had initially feared being recognized, but without his glowing hand, he was just another nondescript man walking around the city.  While Dorian stood out, as he tended to do, here they didn’t face the same political machinations.

“I could stay here forever,” he confessed to Dorian as they waited on their appetizer.

“Could you, now.”  Dorian’s voice was soft, and held the slightest bit of tension, though he tried to remain light.  He stared down at the polished wooden tabletop.  

Theo reached his hand across the table and rested it on Dorian’s.  “Don’t be like that, Dor.  You have to admit it’s refreshing, not cheating death every moment of the day.”

“Oh, it’s a little exciting.  Keeps me on my toes.”  Dorian turned his hand palm-up and clasped Theo’s.  “And fine, it  _ is _ lovely here.  Warm, bright, exciting… and not very deadly.”

“Exactly.”  They both knew that, as the capital of Antiva and home to the Antivan Crows, the city was teeming with deadly things.  But those were other thoughts for other times, and right now, Theo was content to live in the moment where only he and Dorian mattered.

The restaurant served fresh mussels swimming in garlic sauce, and glass after glass of crisp, dry white wine.  After months of drinking swill that barely passed for wine or ale, it wasn’t long before Theo felt pleasantly borderline drunk.  Dorian didn’t hold back either, and by the end of the meal they had trouble standing up straight.  “You, my love, are very, very intoxicated,” Dorian said, holding onto the back of his chair for stability.

“Not nearly as inebriated as you,” Theo countered.  He held out his hand to Dorian and then put his arm around Dorian’s shoulders and they made their way, stumbling only a little, down the cobblestone street toward their hotel.  The warm night breeze brought the scent of beach roses and salt air into the city.  “This is perfect,” he murmured, pausing to pull Dorian into a kiss right in the middle of the street.  Someone whistled, but Theo didn’t much care.  He wanted… no, needed this moment to last long enough to imprint in his memory.

“Do you still fear your own mind?” Dorian asked when Theo pulled away.  He brushed his fingers over Theo’s forehead.

“I still feel like I have gaps in my memory, and there are moments I definitely don’t want to forget,” Theo told him.

“When we return to Minrathous I’ll contact specialists,” Dorian promised.  His grey eyes were so earnest, and would be so even without the impressive quantities of wine he’d consumed.  “I’ll do whatever I can to support you.”

“I know,” Theo said, taking his hand and walking again.  “And I’d do whatever I could to support you.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow.  “I’ve seen the extent of that, and I’d like to put a suggestion in that you maybe scale back your definition of ‘whatever’.  It’s very broad.”

“But if I put boundaries on it, it wouldn’t be ‘whatever’ anymore,” Theo teased.

Dorian pulled him into the small garden courtyard of their hotel and into a shadowed corner.  He pressed his lips firmly against Theo’s.  Theo inhaled sharply and then closed his eyes, smelling the wine on Dorian’s breath and the flowers in the garden and potential rain in the air.  “I take it I talk too much?” he asked when Dorian pulled away for a breath.

“Sometimes.  I don’t mind silencing you though,” Dorian told him, brushing his lips against Theo’s once more.

“I like your way better than…”

“Shh,” Dorian whispered, kissing him again, but more deeply and gently.

The next day held a trip to a sandy beach just south of Trevino, and Theo dragged Dorian into the clear water.  “This is even warmer than back home,” he mused, bobbing in the water as the waves headed toward the shore.  Each swell picked him off the sandy bottom, only to set him back down softly afterward.  “And come to think of it, when was the last time we properly swam?”

Dorian ducked under the water and came up, rubbing water out of his eyes.  “There were the hot springs in Emprise du Lion… Oh, and remember the lake in Crestwood?  And I think we waded through some swamps on the Exalted Plains…”

“Yeah, we’ve never really been swimming together,” Theo surmised.  He picked his legs up under the water and let the next swell rock him gently.  “We need to do this more often.”

Dorian joined him and they stared up at the blue sky.  “The world  _ is _ rather lovely when you’re not trying to not get killed,” he confessed.

They’d let a small cabin for the night: one with cracks in the walls that let in the warm night breezes, and so close to the shore that it sounded like the waves were about to crash over them.  The wooden floor was smoothed by the constant sandy grit underfoot.  Dorian grumbled appropriately about the rustic quality of everything, but Theo caught him smiling when he looked around the cabin.

After three years with the Inquisition, a quaint seaside cabin was hardly the most rustic or awkward place they’d made love, and with the sound of the ocean drowning out other noises, it felt like Theo and Dorian were the only two people in the world.  

But Theo knew they weren’t, and long after Dorian had drifted into a sound sleep, snoring so lightly it could hardly be called snoring (and Dorian would protest heartily at being accused of snoring anyway), he extricated himself from Dorian’s arms and padded out into the sand.  It was still warm underfoot and he sat on a dune not far from their cabin and buried his toes into the sand.

The waxing moons shone down on the ocean, the light wavering and looking like broken glass.  Theo’s heart skipped a beat and he kept staring out at the ocean, letting the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves ease his racing mind.  He leaned back in the sand and stared up at the stars in the sky.  With no city lights to drown out all but the brightest, the stars populated the heavens, an uncountable jumble of light.  He couldn’t even make out any constellations.

Thank the Maker.

He still forgot things; he still had nightmares.  He still had to figure out a way to tell Dorian he couldn’t live in Tevinter, no matter what the Archon had to say about his guilt, or lack thereof.

They returned to Antiva City the next day to find several letters had arrived for them.  Dorian broke the official-looking seal on one of his and groaned.  “Honeymoon’s over,” he said, downing a mug of coffee.  “The Senate is scheduled to convene in a month.  And…” He picked up another letter and opened it.  “Sure enough, Maevaris says hello and apologizes, but she’d like to meet to discuss strategy earlier than that.  The good news is that after all Tanicus did, more fence-sitting Magisters may be convinced to join the Lucerni, or at least sympathize with us.”

Dorian’s eyes sparkled and his mustache quivered, and Theo knew that, for all Dorian claimed to dislike politics, he secretly loved it.  “Honeymoon’s over,” he confirmed, struggling to quell the disappointment gnawing in his chest.  He set down the letter he’d been reading and took a deep breath.  “In that case, we should probably leave tomorrow.  I’d like to take a detour to another part of Antiva I’m dying to see.”

Dorian folded up his letters and scooted closer to Theo on the sofa.  “Whatever I can do,” he said, and rather than tease Dorian about the extent of ‘whatever’, Theo just closed his eyes and kissed him.


	53. Homecoming

#  Chapter 53: Homecoming

Dorian knew better than to ask Theo why they were headed due north, rather than north by northwest, toward Carastes.  He trusted Theo had a reason, and while his innate curiosity drove him just the tiniest bit crazy when they stopped the two nights it took them to get to their destination, Theo made certain to make it worth Dorian’s while.

The weather held out, and around midday on their third day on the road they crested a hillside that rolled down into a sprawling town.  It wasn’t densely crowded like Antiva City, though it was a far cry from the little villages they’d passed through.  The many low buildings had white stucco walls and red clay tile roofs, and they stood out against the green hills and blue sky.

He glanced over at Theo, who, for the first time in a long while, looked excited: green eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and smiling with anticipation.  Theo nudged his horse forward down the packed dirt road and Dorian followed.  “Where are we?” he asked at last.

Theo slowed from a trot to a walk.  “This is the town of Brynnlaw,” he explained.  “It’s… well, it’s home now.”

He kept riding forward even though Dorian reined in his horse.   _ “Amatus,” _ he called, keeping his voice as pleasant as possible.  “I’d like to talk about this before I move to Antiva.”  But Theo kept riding, and Dorian sighed and spurred his horse into a trot to catch up.  He loved Theo, but would be the first to label him infuriating at times.

Finally Theo stopped his horse and looked north to where a solitary mountain glowered down on the town, white peak gleaming in the sun.  “That’s the White Spire,” he explained.  “As for everything else…”  He sighed and ran his hand through his long hair.  “Can you just trust me for another couple miles?”

Dorian sighed and finally nodded.

It wasn’t long before a long, low villa came into view, with the same white stucco walls and red roof as in town.  A decent-sized stable had been built nearby, and workmen were busy with a construction project at the back of the house.  Theo dismounted and let his horse graze, and Dorian did the same.  “I left the Inquisition,” Theo began.  “But it didn’t leave me destitute.  Cullen saw that our soldiers were paid their commissions, our debts were settled, and there was still plenty left.  Of course we gave a sizable donation to Cassandra.”  He glanced over at Dorian.  “Everything ended so suddenly that I didn’t know what to do with myself.  And when I ended up in Minrathous I thought maybe it was just what I had to do to get back to you.  And then I saw what I did.  I heard what people said about you, about us, and after everything that’s happened… I can’t live in Tevinter with you, Dor.”  His green eyes glistened in the sunlight.

It felt like the Winter Palace all over again.  Tevinter called with its urgent political song, and here Theo stood, telling him it was over.  “So that was what this trip was all about?” Dorian asked at last.  “One last hurrah?”

Theo nearly bowled him over with his hug, digging his fingers into Dorian’s shoulder.  “Maker’s hairy balls,  _ never _ ,” he said fiercely.  “I love you, Dorian.  I said I’d do whatever I had to in order to help you, and I think, for now at least, it will be most helpful if I’m not in Minrathous with you.”

Dorian wanted to deny it, but he knew Theo was right.  It didn’t matter what the Archon said, people would still find fault with Theo; they’d still say he’d nearly killed the Imperial Divine.  His presence as a soporati would undermine Dorian’s attempts to improve the Imperium, at least right now.

“There’s a reason I chose Brynnlaw,” Theo said after a moment.  “It’s a two or three day ride to Qarinus.”

Dorian looked up, eyes widening.  “ _ Amatus _ are you saying…”

Theo smiled.  “We have the sending crystals.  The workmen are building an addition on the back of the villa; that will be my…  _ our _ home, when you come.  I wanted windows in my bedroom that face west, so I can look out and know you’re just in the west, in Tevinter.  And I can come to Qarinus, if you’ll have me.”  He looked down at the grass, hardly breathing.

“We were never destined to have a quiet, normal life together, were we,” Dorian said at last.

“Tevinter needs you, Dor,” Theo told him.  “You’ve proven that you’re a force to be reckoned with.  I love you, and if it means staying here so you can do what you need to, I will.”

“And what will you do?  Languish in retirement?”

Theo gave him a crooked grin, eyes sparkling.  “Well, honestly, I’ve always wanted to make bows.”

Dorian laughed at that, his voice echoing out in the hills and the horses looking at him with annoyance.  “That would be something to see: the one-armed bowyer.”

“Like you said, I can’t do anything the normal way.  So… can we make this work?”

Dorian stared at his husband, taking in his features and his hopeful expression.  “This isn’t goodbye?”

“Never.”

“Well.  It’s not happily ever after.”

Theo pulled Dorian into a one-armed hug.  “No, but this isn’t a fairy tale, either.  This is close though.”

Dorian kissed him.  “Then I suppose I’ll take close enough over not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And so ends this adventure for Theo and Dorian, but there will be more! Thank you for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. I have a special place in my heart for writing these two, and it makes me so glad to know others enjoy them and their adventures as well._


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